


Seared

by JordanGrant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Divination, HP: EWE, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Sexual Slavery, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 88,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanGrant/pseuds/JordanGrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after the war is over, Harry is finally marrying the woman of his dreams. Never mind that he's been getting disturbing messages telling him to call the wedding off. He knows what he's doing . . . or so he thinks. Draco knows better. One of the more unfortunate side-effects of being a Seer. Draco has to stop this marriage in any way he can, fair or foul. It's that important, and not because Draco wants anything to do with Potter. He's got no choice, though. And neither does Harry.  (Slavefic. Sort of. You know me. Things are *complicated*).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry didn't know why he should be feeling so nervous as he stood in front of the assembled guests and waited for Ginny to come down the aisle. This was his dream come true, after all. It was what he'd thought of through those long, lonely nights in the forest . . . that if he could just survive the Horcrux hunt, and find a way to kill Voldemort once and for all, then he'd be able to go back to the Burrow and sweep Ginny into his arms and kiss her and kiss her before he asked her to marry him.

Things hadn't worked out quite like that, of course. The end of the war had been as sad as it was joyous. Rows of bodies in the Great Hall, and weeks of funerals and memorials. Trying to smile and say a few polite words whenever he given another medal or award or honour. Trying not to scream as he argued and cajoled, struggling to get Snape the recognition he deserved.

In between things, sometimes, he'd managed to sneak away with Ginny for a long snogging session, but he'd lost his sense of urgency about getting married. The thought had kept him sane for most of what was supposed to have been his seventh year at Hogwarts, but once the war was over in earnest, the realities of life in wizarding Britain had washed over them both. Harry still needed to finish school and get started in some sort of career. "War hero" was a title the whole world seemed to respect, but it wasn't the same as a list of N.E.W.T. qualifications, so Harry had gone back to Hogwarts to do his seventh year.

He'd thought that Ginny would be in his classes, but she was repeating her sixth year; the Ministry, with their talent for understatement, had decreed that the curriculum during that last year of the war had been too substandard to count as a "valid educational experience."

So Ginny had had two more years left at Hogwarts, and Harry had had one plus three gruelling years as an Auror's apprentice. It didn't seem right to get married in the middle of that. He wanted to have things settled before he popped the question. A stable career with good prospects, he'd decided, and then it would be time to get married.

And now that time had finally come, so why were his palms sweating as he waited in the June breeze?

Maybe because of the warnings he and Ginny had both been getting ever since their engagement had been announced two months earlier. 

They came by untraceable owl, for the most part, and while they'd begun in a cryptic manner, they'd grown steadily less so as the date of Harry's wedding had approached.

_You're making a mistake,_ the first one had read. 

Harry'd had no idea what it meant.

The next warning was considerably easier to follow. _She doesn't love you_. Ginny had received a parallel letter stating _He doesn't love you_.

That was when Harry had got the Auror office involved, only to be told that sending anonymous owl-post wasn't any sort of crime. The letters weren't threatening, were they?

Harry had to admit that they weren't.

They weren't even threatening when the writer got more forceful with his pronouncements. _Don't go through with it. If you go through with it, it will be the biggest mistake of your life. Of all our lives._

Harry had given in and replied to that one. _Fuck off,_ he'd written, ink spattering across the parchment, his quill almost breaking as he wrote, he was so annoyed.

"Take it to whoever sent this," he ordered, waving the anonymous letter in front of Ginny's owl. The delivery owl was long gone, of course. As far as Harry could tell, it hadn't even been a real owl. It had been charmed to vanish in a puff of smoke the moment it dropped the letter at Harry's feet.

Hoot just blinked at him with wide eyes.

Well, Harry had known it was a long shot.

He never had found out who was sending those vaguely disturbing messages. 

That didn't matter, though. What mattered was Ginny in her white dress, coming towards him on the arm of her father, her face radiant, her coppery hair shining as the sun glinted through her veil.

So why was Harry still thinking about the letters? Why was his heart beating with something other than excitement and adoration? Why did he feel almost panicked as he stood on the rise of a small hill, waiting to take his vows?

_Wedding jitters_ , he told himself, trying to smile.

What he didn't know was that his problem was about to get worse. A lot worse.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ginny's hand in his was warm and soft as the Ministry official droned on and on through the same words Harry had heard many times before, each time one of his friends had got married.

"And so, if there is anyone here who knows why this witch and this wizard cannot be wed in good conscience and in the full view of Magic, let him speak now or forever after hold his peace . . ."

A huge wind suddenly burst across the ceremony, blowing Harry's robes up in front of his face. He heard Ginny give a sharp, short scream.

Then the wind subsided and Draco Malfoy was standing alongside the Ministry official, his wand trained on Ginny.

Harry's wand was in his hand instantly, the single word _Expelliarmus_ already bursting from his lips, when Ginny gave another one of those sharp, short screams, this one complete with words.

"No, don't! Don't cast! He's done something--"

Harry stopped in mid-word and narrowed his eyes. "What have you done?"

Malfoy's voice was somehow light and vicious at the same time. "Nothing you can undo, Potter. Not even with your signature spell."

" _What have you done,_ Malfoy?"

"A bit of ancient magic. Nothing to be alarmed about," he said, still in that breezy tone. "And nothing you can undo, as I said. This is justice."

"Harry," said Ginny in a shaky voice. "Where-- where are we?"

That was when Harry realised that they were alone. All the wedding guests had vanished. Nobody was left except the three of them and the Ministry official, who appeared to be suffering from something like _Petrificus_.

"Malfoy," snapped Harry. "I was in the middle of getting married, in case you hadn't noticed. Send us back at once, or bring them back, or whatever. I don't have time for this!"

"I'm afraid I can't allow any marriage to take place, Potter. You see . . ." He leaned forward, his features filled with glee. "Your bride is mine."

"That's it," snapped Harry. " _Incarcerous!_ "

Beside him, Ginny screamed a long, high wail, like she was a tapestry being pierced by a needle, again and again.

"She told you not to cast against me," said Draco calmly. " _Finite Incantatem._ "

Ginny sagged and nearly fell, grabbing onto Harry's arm to stay upright. 

"Are you all right?"

"Of course she's all right," said Draco. "That was just a mild punishment. I do hope the point was clear. She's mine and anyone who acts against that determination . . . well, Ginny is the one who will suffer for it. Rather clever of the French spell-constructors, don't you think? But then, they didn't want to have to argue with cretins about justice."

Harry gently gathered Ginny into his arms and held her shaking form as he glared at Malfoy. "Why don't you just get to the point so that I can get back to getting married?"

"Too many gets," said Malfoy. "Were you always so annoying? But of course you were."

"Malfoy!"

"It's very simple. Hex me, attack me, dispute my claim to her in any way, and she shall be the one to suffer for it." Malfoy tucked his wand away into a pocket, the smug bastard. "And I do have a claim, Potter. One that Magic itself has recognised, so I'm afraid your marriage is out of the question. Ginevra will be living with me from now on. You know, I've never had a redhead in my bed before. Is it true that they gibber when they come? Never mind, I'll know the answer to that soon enough--"

Harry pulled Ginny more tightly against him as his free hand formed a fist and flew out to punch Malfoy straight in the face.

Who moved in time to have the blow catch his jaw, instead.

Ginny screamed again, her wail this time threaded with agony. "Harry, no, _no_ , Harry-- make it stop!"

Her legs buckled and this time, instead of letting Harry support her, Malfoy stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. " _Finite Incantatem,_ " he said softly. "And let us hope that Potter does nothing else so inexcusably foolish."

Harry panted, looking at Ginny clasped in Malfoy's loose embrace, and rasped, "What is this? What have you done to her? Why do you want to hurt her?"

"I don't want to hurt her. That's a natural by-product of the pending spell. It wants to be finalised. Magic, you know. Or perhaps you don't. This is very old. Out of favour in Britain, but the magic doesn't care about that."

Harry sighed. "Pending spell, Malfoy?"

"Did I not yet explain?" Malfoy smiled again, the expression no less vicious than before. "Her mother killed my aunt, as I'm sure you know. These things have a way of rebounding, or at least they do when wizards know their heritage the way they should. Molly Weasley took a family member from me, so now I'm taking one from her, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. It's recompense and a punishment all at once. Ginevra Weasley, you see, is going to be my slave."

"Slavery isn't legal."

"Would you let my house-elves know?" Malfoy laughed.

Damn, Malfoy was right. Legal in the wizarding world didn't mean what it did in the rest of Britain. If magic made something _real_ , then legal was often beside the point. That had been a major topic during his Auror studies. 

"You can't let him do this to me, Harry," said Ginny, her strength returning enough that she was able to struggle a bit in Malfoy's arms. 

"Oh, but I think we've established that he can't do anything against _me_ ," said Malfoy smoothly, bending his head to drop a kiss on Ginny's hair as he pulled her snugly against him. "And neither can you, my sweet. My word shall be law for you, and you'll be literally unable to disobey. But fear not, hmm? You won't be lonely." His voice became a croon. "I'll fuck you morning, noon, and night, and I won't let my father have you until you've borne me at least two pure-blooded children, though to keep peace in the family I may have to order you to suck him off a few times each week, and--"

"No," said Harry, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't hex Malfoy, couldn't hit him, and he certainly couldn't Apparate away to seek help, not when it meant leaving Ginny with a fiend who could say such horrible things to her. He wasn't going to let this happen to her, though. _He wasn't_.

"You can't stop me, Potter," said Malfoy dryly. "The spell is half-cast already. All I have to do is complete the incantation and she'll be like a puppet dancing to my tune. I can probably even make her _want_ to bear children for Lucius when the time comes. My mother declines to go through that again, but the family line does need another heir in case something should happen to me."

He said that last bit as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Harry--"

"And if you kill me to stop me from completing the incantation, she'll drop dead at my feet," added Malfoy. "Just accept it, Potter. Her family owes me, and she's the payment I demand."

"Hundreds of people died in the war, and Molly only killed your aunt because _she_ was about to kill Ginny!"

"I know. Ironic, isn't it?" Draco flicked his fingernails as though some dust had landed on them, and then started petting Ginny's hair as she trembled in his arms. "And hundreds of people can't do as I'm doing. I told you, it requires a certain knowledge of one's own heritage. Dark heritage in this case, but there it is."

"Malfoy," said Harry in a heavy tone, "I know we never saw eye to eye on, well, anything, but . . . this is a new low, even for you. I thought better of you."

Something flickered in Malfoy's gaze, and then it was like his grey eyes iced over. "Did you. So sorry to disappoint. Tell me one thing, Potter. Have you fucked sweet Ginevra up the arse yet? Because I like it rough, and it would be best indeed if she's already used to it. Though I dare say, she's not used to licking a man clean after he's had her arse. No, I can't imagine Saint Potter asking _that_ of his lady love--"

Something inside Harry snapped, but it wasn't like before, when he'd hit Malfoy. This time, he snapped in a way that wouldn't hurt Ginny.

"Take me instead."

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "Do you mean that the way it sounds? Because no offense, Potter, but takeable as your arse might be, I hardly think it's a fair trade for a lifetime of fucks with my sweet Ginevra."

He dropped another kiss atop her head, one hand dropping down to stroke her breasts through the white covering of her wedding robes.

Ginny shuddered; Harry gritted his teeth.

"Take me instead," he said again, this time through them. "Take me for your fucking slave, Malfoy. Just _let her go._

oOoOoOoOoOo

"No, Harry," moaned Ginny. "Don't-- don't--"

" _Silencio_ ," said Malfoy calmly. " _Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus_. There, that's better." 

He settled her stiff, frozen body to the ground with more care than Harry would have expected. 

"Now to the core of the wand. Do you mean that, Potter? Do you want to trade yourself to save Ginevra?"

"No," spat Harry. "I want you to drop the whole thing, apologize to Ginny, and stay the fuck out of our lives from now on."

"That won't be possible." Malfoy pointed his wand at Ginny. "You or her. Decide."

"You're really a sick fuck, you know that?"

"Her, I presume you mean." Malfoy flicked his wand, sending a long, golden tendril from it.

" _Me_ ," said Harry through gritted teeth.

The tendril stopped in mid-air, undulating in the space separating Harry from Ginny.

"You would be more useful," said Malfoy as though considering his options. "Hmm. I'm supposed to take family for family, Potter, though the tradition does leave room for someone to serve as a proxy. It's tricky, though. I'm allowed to claim a member of the offending family against her will. A proxy, however, has to be willing."

"Which part of 'take me, Malfoy,' did you not follow?"

"True, true, you did volunteer. Fine, then. Kneel."

"Kneel?"

"It's a one-syllable word, Potter. Which part of it did _you_ not follow?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy." Harry dropped to his knees.

"Are you trying to hand me straight lines? No matter. This is the part where you prove you're willing. Pull the spell towards you and wrap it around your wrists, over and over, as if you're tying your wrists together."

Harry gritted his teeth and did it. "What do I say?"

"I would think that an Auror would be familiar with the concept of non-verbal magic, not to mention ritual. Just wrap the spell. Good. Now lift up your wrists and offer them to me."

Harry glanced at Ginny, but clenched his eyes shut a moment later. He couldn't bear the sight of her, because this was good-bye, wasn't it? If he ever saw her again, which didn't seem likely, nothing would be the same. Nothing.

He raised his hands as Malfoy had demanded.

"When I touch my wand to your bonds, it will seal the spell. Do you understand?"

Harry kept his eyes shut. He didn't want to see Malfoy's expression. "Yes."

"It's a spell that cannot be undone," warned Malfoy. Harry couldn't imagine why he bothered, unless it was a requirement of the ritual. "You will forever after be bound to me, in the eyes of the Ministry and magic alike. Do you understand?"

"Just do it," said Harry dully.

" _Do you understand?_ "

"Yes!"

Harry wasn't watching, but he recognized the exact moment when Malfoy must have sealed the spell, because an entirely unfamiliar sensation washed through him. It was warm and all-encompassing, like his whole body had just been wrapped in sun-drenched blankets that smelled of fresh, springtime grass.

God damn it, the feeling was _pleasant_. And slavery was going to be anything but, so Harry found the whole thing pretentious and annoying.

A moment of silence passed, but the feeling didn't. It soaked through his muscles and into his bones, becoming part of him. 

"There," said Malfoy, sounding . . . relieved? "You can stand up now, Harry."

When he almost lost his balance doing it, instinct made his eyes snap open. 

Malfoy was staring at him, his expression hard to decipher. It wasn't triumphant, that much was obvious. Actually, he looked a bit like he was wondering what to do next. That wasn't hard to understand. He'd come here expecting to enslave Ginny, a girl from a family he detested, but not a personal enemy.

That's what Harry was to him, and now Harry was in his clutches. Malfoy was probably trying to decide what kind of service to demand first.

The surprising thing was that he didn't look very gleeful at the prospect.

Harry blinked. "Where's Ginny? Where's Mr Wimpole?"

"Back to the ceremony. None the worse for wear, I assure you."

"None the worse for wear! You just interrupted her wedding and kidnapped the groom!"

"Kidnapped is a bit harsh, don't you think? I was careful to make sure that you were willing. Now, you need to come to the manor with me."

"I have to make sure that Ginny is all right--"

"No, you have to _come with me_. You'll regret it if you don't."

Harry curled his fingers around his wand to Apparate back to the site of the wedding. Never mind that it looked like he was still on the small hill where the ceremony had been taking place. This was somewhere else, and he had to make sure that Ginny hadn't been harmed--

Malfoy snapped his fingers.

Harry's wand vanished from his grasp. 

In the same moment, he felt himself pulled across what felt like half of Britain, sucked and propelled and sucked again, squeezing through a tube far too small for one, let alone two.

He arrived in a bedroom the size of a small house, Malfoy at his side.

Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed him into a chair, and snatched something off a nearby table. "Drink this," he ordered, shoving a squat glass filled with foaming black liquid into his hand. 

It smelled like honey, for all it looked like filthy petroleum. But poisons often had a cloying scent.

"Now, Harry."

"No."

"Do it!"

Harry almost expected something magical to reach out and force him, but the slavery spell must not work that way. It was letting him say 'no' and mean it. Which was all to the good.

Harry set the glass aside and stood up. "Well, since it seems like I don't have to obey you, I'll be going--"

"Without your wand?"

"I can always get another wand." Harry took a step in the direction of the door, but it seemed to move away from him. Huh. Worse, the warm-blanket feeling in his bones was getting hotter, and it was hard to breathe.

Which went to show, he supposed, that the slavery spell wasn't going to let him leave.

"Harry," said Malfoy, grasping him by the shoulders again. Harry tried to shake him off and failed. "You don't understand. You're taking ill and the potion will stop it, but not unless you drink it straight away."

"How st- stupid do you think I am? I don't take potions from people I don't tr- trust . . ."

Malfoy bared his teeth. "Can't you feel yourself getting sick?"

"You did it. Non-verbal magic," wheezed Harry. "Trick me--"

Malfoy thrust the honeyed liquid up to his lips. "Drink it! Now!"

Harry lurched to one side, bringing up his arm to knock the glass to the floor, thick black goo flying in an arc over the pristine white carpet.

" _Accio_ potion--"

Malfoy's spell worked, but the potion didn't fly neatly back into the glass he was scooping through the air to collect it. It spattered all over him, staining his robes, though Harry thought, rather irrelevantly, that black-on-black wouldn't do much harm . . .

"You stupid-- _Gah!_ " exclaimed Malfoy. 

Meanwhile, Harry's legs buckled and he fell in a heap to the floor. For some reason, that struck him as amusing, though he couldn't laugh since he hadn't breathed in . . . no telling how long.

Malfoy shoved him onto his back and straddled him, thrusting his hand into Harry's mouth. As much of it would fit, anyway.

"Suck my fingers," he said in an urgent voice. "Come _on_ , Harry. Don't fuck this up completely."

Oh, _sure_ Harry was going to suck the poison off his fingers. Right.

Except . . . the room was spinning around him and the only thing holding him steady was Malfoy's weight sitting on his midsection. Malfoy, who had long, supple fingers moving like a caress inside his mouth, teasing him into suckling.

The room dimmed around him, and Harry started sucking. He couldn't help it. Malfoy's fingers tasted so _good_ \--

"That's it," said Malfoy softly. "Good, Harry. Good." He changed hands. "More. Good--"

Harry didn't hear the rest of it. He'd gone too long without breathing.

He blacked out.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was floating, but that was all right, because he was pillowed by clouds. Soft and welcoming, they surrounded him in a cocoon of snow-white gossamer, keeping him warm and safe.

But sometimes they weren't enough, and Harry would begin to shiver.

Strong arms came around him at those times, pulling him close alongside a body lean and hard enough to lend him strength. Harry would melt into the arms and let them support him, the tremors quaking his body gradually subsiding until he could slip once more into a peaceful sleep.

The arms did more than hold him. The hands attached to them massaged his chest when the air around him seemed resistant to all his efforts to draw it in. The scent of spearmint rose around him then, the hands slick with some kind of oil that heated on contact, opening up his lungs, the air around him thinning more and more as supple fingers worked his muscles and pressed against the taut flesh covering his ribs.

When Harry heard a low noise, he was slow to recognize it as himself, moaning.

The hands fed him, too, gently lifting him up until he could lean back against someone holding him upright, spooning tiny bites of mush into his mouth. But the mush was something magical, a different flavour with every bite. Broiled steak now, all the juicy goodness without the chewiness. Now bell pepper, hot and steaming on his tongue. And the next bite ice-cream, tangy with what seemed like bits of real strawberry, but without the fleshy texture.

It all slid over his tongue and down his throat, a feast fit for a king, as soft words echoed around him offering encouragement. "Good, Harry. Yes, that's it. A little more, now. You must keep up your strength . . ."

And then a slow, pulsing stream of water would pour into his mouth, stopping every time he needed to swallow.

Whenever a meal ended, the arms would wrap around him again and hold him tight until Harry drifted back to sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry cracked an eye and was almost blinded by the whiteness surrounding him. White everything, the color gentle and soothing. But even so, it hurt his eye, so he snapped it closed again and groaned.

"Harry?"

The voice came from beside him and sounded lazy, like the person was just waking up.

No, not the person . . . a specific person. Malfoy. 

In _bed_ with him? Harry tried to roll out of bed and was surprised at how unresponsive his muscles were. 

But that wasn't the only problem. Bands around his chest tightened, the sensation familiar, and something snapped into place inside his mind. The arms . . . those arms that had held him cradled and rocked him to sleep when he'd ached pleasantly from a thorough massage . . . Malfoy's arms.

And he was embracing Harry. "Let go," he croaked.

"Ah. You're properly awake."

Malfoy slid an arm out from under Harry and moved away, the sheets and comforters fluttering as he left the bed.

"Water?"

Harry did better this time when he opened his eyes, though the unrelenting white all around was rather disconcerting. When he could focus, he saw that Malfoy was holding out a crystal tumbler. He waited while Harry pushed himself upright enough to drink from it, then moved it close enough for Harry to grasp.

Feeling weak and somehow dazzled, Harry drained the glass. Only then did he become aware of an odd detail: the other man was dressed completely in white. 

Harry had never seen Malfoy in anything but black before, not that he could recall.

And he'd certainly never seen him in pyjamas. That, he would remember.

Harry himself was naked, but covered to the waist by mounds and mounds of puffy blankets that seemed to hug him with softness and warmth. 

"How long was I . . ."

"Two weeks."

"Two . . ." Harry's voice drifted off. "I can't remember much. Just . . ."

_You caring for me,_ his shell-shocked brain supplied. 

"You were delirious a lot of the time." Malfoy shrugged. "More water? Or are you hungry? Or is there anything else you need?"

What Harry needed was his freedom, but there wasn't much point in saying so. "Answers."

"Those could be . . . problematic." Malfoy sat down on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on the blankets covering his legs when Harry tried to move away. "But perhaps not. What would you like to know?"

At least a thousand questions crowded his mind, and to say that Harry couldn't think straight was an understatement. His thoughts were swimming in all directions, his brain almost hurting from the effort of trying to prioritize them.

And Malfoy, damn it, could either tell that through the slavery bond or could read it on his face. "You're exhausted," he said softly. "Why don't you sleep for a while? I'll still be here when you wake up."

Harry forced himself to push through to the other side of the exhaustion, where a thin edge of awareness lurked. He'd had to learn the trick during Auror training, or he'd never have got through the grueling study and practice. 

"No," he said, his eyes narrowing as a question popped out of the throng in his head. "Why can I tell you no?"

"I'm not exerting much authority at the moment."

So Harry could have free will if Malfoy allowed it? But, wait. Something was wrong with that conclusion. Something Harry should be able to figure out, but with his brain swimming in treacle, it took a while.

Malfoy merely waited, staring patiently at Harry, his white pyjamas making and golden-white hair making him look almost angelic.

Or maybe it was the expression. No sneer, no contempt.

Harry thought it was a miracle the other man's face didn't break from the strain of giving those up. Or maybe he'd taken some sort of kindness potion, because he wasn't acting a thing like himself--

Oh. Right, that was it. The potion.

"You were exerting all the authority you could to make me drink that black sludge, and I was still able to tell you no."

"A special case. You needed that potion as a result of the spell that bound you to me. But since the spell had to be entered into willingly, the potion had to be taken the same way." Malfoy's voice got harder, then. "You're lucky I was able to get you to suck some off my fingers. Without that, you would have died. As it was, you got so little that you ended up half-dead for a fortnight."

"And you took care of me," said Harry bleakly.

"Of course I took care of you. If I'd wanted you dead, I would have withheld the potion."

"No, I meant . . ." Harry felt exhaustion creeping up on him, but fought it back again. "You have elves . . ."

"Ah, but you needed a human touch."

That last word . . . but no, Harry didn't want to ask about that. He didn't want to know. "What made me get sick, then?"

"I told you. It's a consequence of the spell. Entirely to be expected, which is why I had the potion ready." Malfoy gave him what might have been an apologetic glance. "I suppose I could have explained that better at the time."

"Ginny--"

"She's fine, Harry. She's been here twice to see you, though I didn't admit her into the manor."

"I want you to."

"No."

"Malfoy--"

" _No,_ Harry. You can't continue your liaison with her. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry! You did this!" Harry's strength gave out then, and he slumped down in the bed. He'd much rather have slid out of it and left the room, the manor, Wiltshire, in search of Ginny, but his muscles felt fluid -- like they weren't even attached to his bones. Against his will, he yawned.

"Go to sleep."

"Get out."

"No," said Malfoy, sounding amused. "This is my room."

"Didn't know you had such a thing for white," muttered Harry, yawning again. Damn it.

"It'll be that way until colours stop hurting your eyes. Now _sleep_ , Harry."

"Why the fuck are you calling me Harry all of a sudden?"

"Am I?" Malfoy widened his eyes a fraction. "I suppose I am. Well . . . Potter seems wrong, now. Very wrong. Not another word now, or I'll cast a charm to put you under. Just rest."

"Don't you dare get back in bed with me--"

" _Mare Tranquilitatus,_ " intoned Malfoy, swirling his wand.

And Harry was suddenly floating in a liquid dreamland, so peaceful and content that he couldn't imagine wanting to wake.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry must have needed the sleep more than he'd realized.

That was apparent the moment he woke up, feeling far more coherent than last time.

More coherent, yes. But no less embraced.

"I told you not to get back in bed with me," he exclaimed, jerking away from Malfoy's long arms. More than that, he couldn't manage. His muscles felt attached to his bones now, but no matter how hard he tried to leave the bed . . . no use. 

Malfoy stretched, the fabric of his pyjamas rustling, and then hopped up. "It's my bed. And you will be sharing it with me, Harry. Whinging won't change a thing, so I suggest you stop now."

Harry gave a low laugh. "If you think I'm staying here, let alone in your bed, you're battier than Trelawney on a bad hair day. The minute I'm well enough, I'm going to walk straight out of here."

"And why aren't you well enough to walk?"

"Because your fucking spell made me sick!"

"You do need more time to fully recover, true. But you can't go anywhere at the moment because . . ." Malfoy stepped closer. "You're tethered to me."

"Excuse me?"

"Tethered, I said. You can't go more than a certain distance from me, a distance I alone determine. Exerting my authority, as I mentioned before. You won't leave my room unless I allow it. You certainly won't leave the confines of the manor." Malfoy stepped closer again, then perched on the edge of the mattress. "And when I wish . . . you won't leave my bed."

"You _are_ a sick fuck."

"It's for the best. You're so headstrong that you'd get out of bed and collapse if you didn't have someone to decide otherwise. You're staying right where you are so that you can get well."

"And then you'll let me up?"

"Of course. I don't plan to spend the rest of my life in my boudoir."

Right, because of the tethering spell. Harry would have to go wherever Malfoy did, at least until he lengthened the leash. "Sick fuck" didn't even begin to cover it, thought Harry, slow rage beginning to build in his belly. "Give me some clothes, then! And get rid of all this white!"

"Not your color?"

"Not _yours_."

"And you're already thinking of me." Malfoy smiled. "I knew we'd get along."

Harry almost threw a pillow at him, but realized in time that Malfoy would probably find that playful, instead of the attack he envisaged. The sort of attack that was out of reach for the time being. He didn't think he could lift the crystal vase that was almost, almost within reach . . .

Before his eyes, the crystal transmuted into a brilliant opaque blue.

Well, blue with golden veins running through it, the whole thing so highly polished that it glinted more than the crystal had. Harry winced and looked away. Had blue always been that bright?

"You see? I knew it was too soon for colors." A swishing noise filled Harry's ears. "There. It's back the way it was. But let's leave the white for two or three more days. You should be able to do without by then."

Harry suspected a trick, but the vase was crystal again when he looked. "Thanks," he said, the word threaded with reluctance. What else could he say, though? He knew that Malfoy didn't have to be solicitous of a little thing like Harry getting a blinding headache.

Hell, Malfoy could toss him in the dungeons if he wanted.

And he did have dungeons. In his case, it wasn't just a figure of speech.

"My pleasure."

That, thought Harry cynically, probably was a figure of speech. "How did you know that the colors would hurt?"

"Logical deduction from the way you whimpered whenever you'd crack your eyes and see me in jewel-toned pyjamas."

Harry crossed his arms. "A logical deduction would be to assume that I was objecting to being so close to you."

"No, that wasn't it." Malfoy smiled. "You liked being held."

"I did not!"

"You did." That smile looked almost indulgent. "But don't let it bother you, Harry. Anybody in your condition would have reacted the same way." A slight noise had him cocking his head to one side. "That will be your meal, I think."

Instead of an elf popping in as Harry expected, there was a tapping noise at the door. Draco waved his wand to open it, but still . . . no elf. Narcissa Malfoy stood there in simple, elegant robes, a tray in her hands.

"Mother," said Draco with a slight sigh. "I told you."

Her robes had been palest yellow to begin with, the shade of the buttercream icing Aunt Petunia used to make. Well, the shade before she tinted it. When Draco flicked his wand, though, Mrs Malfoy's robes faded to a pure, pristine white.

"My eyes aren't that sensitive, Malfoy," said Harry, trying to get over the shock of seeing her in what she _had_ to regard as the role of a servant, or more likely, an elf. And yet she didn't look offended to be acting like an ordinary person. 

"My apologies, Draco," she said as she entered the room. _Entered_ didn't come close to capturing the motion, though. She glided, floated, fluttered-- well, it didn't look like walking to Harry, anyway, for all it probably was. She laid the tray on a chest at the foot of the bed and glanced curiously at Harry, but reserved most of her attention for her son. "There you are. Everything just as you requested."

"Thank you, Mother. I'll need to speak with you, but later. Harry takes top priority. But when he's well enough to get out of bed, I'll expect you to explain some discrepancies in the vault accounts. Of course, if you'd care to correct them yourself before then, we won't need to get very far into it."

Narcissa paled a little, and gave a sharp nod before she turned as gracefully as a ballerina and floated back out, the door closing on its own after her.

"Could I have those clothes now?" asked Harry, exasperated. And confused. Why was Draco speaking like that, and to his own mother?

"Certainly."

Harry expected either rags, or something else that would mark him as a lowly slave. Slytherin colors, maybe, and the kind of stiff, formal clothes Malfoy seemed to favor when he wasn't in pyjamas.

Instead, Malfoy went to his wardrobe and pulled out a white t-shirt that Harry recognized as one of his own, complete with an old stain from greasy chips. 

Well, it could have been Malfoy's, he supposed, but the other man wasn't the t-shirt type. Let alone the stained clothing type. He probably banished anything the minute he classed it as less than perfect. 

The next thing Malfoy pulled from the wardrobe was a pair of soft, worn jeans. Harry's, again. Frowning, Malfoy transfigured them into even softer fabric. White, of course. Then a pair of snug pants, which were white already, and thankfully, not stained.

"There you are."

Harry didn't feel like being mocked, so he didn't bother asking for the tethering spell to be relaxed. Instead, he pulled the shirt over his head and wriggled into the rest of it by reaching beneath the covers.

Afterwards, he felt like sleeping for another two weeks. How could such a simple task be so debilitating?

Slumped against the pillows, Harry scowled. "The spell lets you into Number Twelve, then?"

"Of course. I must say, you'll be much better off in these surroundings. That house is a positive mausoleum. Your elf was helpful, though."

Of course he was. Kreacher had probably slobbered as he rushed to do the bidding of a proper, pureblooded master. 

"I tried to collect things I thought you'd want, but if there's anything else . . . ?"

"My fiancée!"

"Out of the question."

" _Why_?" demanded Harry.

Malfoy's eyes acquired a far-off, otherworldly look, like he was seeing spirits in the air, or something. For a long moment, he simply stared into space, his fingers moving in tiny, restless circles. Then he blinked, and the strange light in his eyes was gone. "I'm afraid I can't discuss it," he said calmly. "But I won't allow you to see her, or any of your friends, until--"

"Until?" Harry sat up, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. "Until when?"

"I can't set a date. I have to do what I think best, and circumstances are constantly shifting, and that _changes_ what is best."

"What, a month? A couple of months?"

Malfoy sat down on the bed. "It could be years. I really don't know."

_Years_. Harry's heart sank. But then, he'd assumed he'd never see Ginny again, so was years so bad?

Yes, yes it was. 

And "years" was just a fantasy, anyway. He couldn't trust Malfoy to keep his word.

"So, something besides polyporridge," said Malfoy brightly, as if he knew Harry needed cheering. "But still a simple meal. Soup and bread. I do hope you care for beef-and-barley. And pumpkin juice to drink, of course."

Harry had thought the glass contained milk. He made a face. "The whole meal being white makes it look pretty unappetizing."

"Hmm. True. Well, the lapis lazuli was a very vibrant color. Perhaps you can tolerate some muted hues." He waved his wand over the tray.

Now it was pastel pumpkin juice, and soup that resembled cream of chicken with rice instead of beef-and-barley, but at least it looked edible.

"Headache?" asked Malfoy.

"No, and I don't know why you're being so solicitous."

"Why wouldn't I be? Considering there's now strong magic binding you to me, it only stands to reason that I would care about your welfare."

Harry snorted. "You only care about yourself. Otherwise, you'd never have tried to enslave Ginny in the first place!"

Malfoy shrugged. "I can't deny that there was some self-interest at play. Eat, Harry. Or are you still afraid of poison?"

"I wasn't _afraid_ ," muttered Harry. "It's called wariness."

"It will be called weariness if you suspect poison at every meal." Malfoy leaned closer. "I didn't spend two weeks seeing to your needs day and night only to kill you the moment you become useful. _Eat_."

Harry picked up the gleaming silver spoon decorated with some kind of crest, then thought better of it. He set it down again with a slight thud. "No. I think I'd like you to _exert your authority_ , Malfoy. If you want me to eat, you're going to have to make me."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Eat."

"No."

"Eat.

" _Make me._ "

Malfoy's gaze grew thunderous. He drew his wand in a single, smooth motion and leveled it at Harry. " _Eat. Now._ "

Harry waited for the spell, the compulsion, the magical force animating his hands without his own consent . . . but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing, unless you counted the way that Malfoy's face was turning red with rage.

"You can't, can you?"

"I actually can, but I'd rather not."

"Too bad," said Harry cheerfully, as he didn't believe a word of that. "Because I'm not eating a thing until you make me."

Malfoy muttered something inaudible, then said in a louder voice, "This is juvenile."

"And enslaving your enemies is _so_ mature."

"If you're capable of understanding anything in this stubborn frame of mind, try to understand this: you are not my enemy."

Sure. All the same, Harry raised an eyebrow. "I meant Ginny."

"Or her. It wasn't personal."

"You interrupted my wedding and started casting a slavery spell on my _bride_ , and it wasn't personal?"

Malfoy glared. "No. _It wasn't_. I did what I had to do and I'd do it again, in a heartbeat."

"Oh, you _had_ to do it." Harry scoffed. "Mind telling me why?"

"Family honor. Now, _eat!_ "

"No."

Malfoy clenched his fists.

"Just admit that you can't make me," taunted Harry.

"But I can, you Gryffindor twit!"

"Then do it." 

"I should just let you starve!"

Harry folded his arms. "Fine by me."

" _Fuck!_ "

That was said in nothing less than a roar. 

For ten seconds more, Harry toyed with the idea of going on a hunger strike for real. He didn't kid himself, though. Malfoy would probably force-feed him if Harry took it far enough to endanger his life, and in the meantime, Harry would become weaker and weaker. Not a prospect he relished when trapped in the lair of an enemy.

So he decided to bargain for what he could get.

"I know you can't really make me eat, Malfoy," he said scornfully. "But hunger gets old fast, so I will. On one condition. Tell me the truth about _exerting your authority._ "

Malfoy stared at him. Then he looked away, his eyes spinning into deep thought again, almost as if he was trying to fall into a trance. His fingers wiggled like he was stirring something.

Finally, he sighed. "I suppose I should have known that you'd be difficult."

Harry said nothing.

Another long sigh. "Very well, then. The spell _will_ allow me to force you to eat, but only under certain conditions that haven't yet been met."

"Such as?"

"Your hunger would have to become dangerous, and that, I don't care to see. So, _eat_."

Harry picked up the spoon, using it as a bargaining chip. "What if I hadn't wanted to get dressed?"

Malfoy gave him a disgusted look, like he knew what Harry was doing and thought it childish. 

Huh. He must truly want Harry to start eating, because he answered that, too. "I could have forced you if it were cold enough in the room to affect your health."

Double huh. Harry narrowed his eyes to a pair of green slits. "And if you wanted me to fetch you a book, eh? What then?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "If you wanted to be very stubborn, I suppose I'd have to do without or fetch it myself."

This was either the strangest slavery spell Harry had ever heard of, or Malfoy had lied about the whole thing, right down to tricking Harry into taking a potion that would render him helpless for two weeks. What was that all about, an adjustment period? Malfoy hoping that a spot of Stockholm Syndrome would set in?

"What about those disgusting things you said about Ginny?" he challenged, his face getting hot at the mere thought of the horrible threats Malfoy had made. "Making her bear your children! Passing her around to your own father! Making her lick your-- after you'd--"

"Oh, I could have made her do every bit of that," said Malfoy, his expression set in stone. "It would have been simple enough to turn _her_ into a mindless drone. Or force her to physically obey while she hated every instant."

"But I'm different," said Harry doubtfully. He didn't see what would make him so. This wasn't anything to do with Voldemort or his scar or being able to speak Parseltongue, which he couldn't do any longer, anyway. 

"Perils of being a proxy," said Malfoy lightly. "Nobody in your family killed a close relative of mine, so of course the magic's different in your case."

"Different as in, you can't force me to do _anything_ unless it would endanger my life?"

"Or health." Malfoy toyed with the edge of the sheet, twisting and untwisting it as he spoke. "But you're rather missing the point, I think. These limits exist insofar as the bonding spell is concerned. There are whole universes of other magic I could bring into play, and since I have a wand and you don't--"

Harry eyed the wand in question. A new one, which probably meant that the hawthorn wand he'd returned had never worked well for Malfoy again. If Harry could find it, or find his own wand--

Or if not, well, he could always grapple physically with Draco again and snatch the wand by force, just as he'd done during the war--

"You are so transparent it's actually pathetic," said Malfoy suddenly. "No, of course you can't gain mastery of my wand like that again. Please. You don't think I would have warded it against that sort of thing?"

"You didn't before!"

"I couldn't before. Now, it's not a problem. I believe you were going to eat?"

"As soon as you tell me if the tether is real."

"Oh, it's real." Malfoy paused for a moment. "Shift to the edge of the bed."

Harry did so, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't swivel his legs off the mattress.

"Come back."

"I like it over here, thanks--"

"Harry, come back!" snapped Malfoy. "I'm trying to demonstrate the tether, since I'm not daft enough to believe you'll take my word for it."

Harry reluctantly slid back over.

"We've just established that you're able to move over, so don't blame it on your weakened state when you can't do it again," said Malfoy smugly. "I've adjusted the tether, you see. Try to shift over."

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Malfoy was right. No matter how Harry struggled and strained, it was like he was glued to the bed with a permanent sticking charm.

"Please do stop now. You look like you'll burst an artery."

"Bleeding out would be preferable to being leashed like a dog!"

"Never like a dog, I promise." Malfoy paused. "There . . . enough tether for you to roam around on the bed again. Now, will you for the love of Merlin finally eat? Please?"

_Please?_ Harry almost did a double-take. 

Instead, he dipped the spoon into the bowl of soup and took a tentative sip. Piping hot still, no doubt due to charms, and more delicious than anything Harry had ever tasted before, with just a hint of paprika in the broth, and a dash of something reminiscent of wine, but without the sourness--

If he wasn't careful, he was going to disgrace himself and moan out loud.

"We do have a very good chef," said Malfoy, smirking like he knew about the almost-moan.

"A relative of--" Harry had to swallow. It still hurt to think of him, even years later. "Dobby's?"

"No, no indeed," said Malfoy softly. "That's the second time you've assumed I keep elves. Perhaps I should clarify the situation. I have none in the manor any longer. Nor in any of my other properties."

Oh. _Oh_. That was an ugly thought, one that had never even ocurred to him before. It should have. "Voldemort killed them?" he asked, horrified. And then it got worse. "Or-- or made _you_ do it?"

Malfoy stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Of course he didn't. I thought you'd grasped wizarding culture better than that. Purebloods, or those with pretensions to be, generally like having elves about to serve them."

Harry started eating again, pulling a chunk of bread off the miniature loaf on his tray. It was chewy but light, with a buttery flavor popping out of every tiny crevice. When he swallowed, there was even an subtle aftertaste of marmalade.

That time he started moaning without noticing, and had to stop himself.

Malfoy said nothing of it, though he looked unaccountably pleased. Why he'd care if Harry enjoyed his food was a good question, though.

"So what happened to your elves?" he asked after he'd washed down a swallow of pumpkin juice that tasted like it had been squeezed no longer than ten seconds ago. 

"You really can't guess?" Malfoy sounded disappointed. 

"How should I know?"

"Fine, then. I freed them."

Harry almost spewed. And wasn't that appropriate, considering the context. He'd have to tell Hermione . . . except he wasn't going to see Hermione until Malfoy said so, which could be years. Or never. 

"You . . . oh, pull the other one, Malfoy. I know you don't care about elvish welfare!"

"Pull the other what?"

"Never mind. Was that why your mother brought the tray up? Because you don't have elves?"

"We do have servants, but she brought the tray herself because I asked."

Harry shelved all his questions about that. "So what really happened to your elves? I know you didn't free them."

"Oh, but I did."

"You couldn't!" exclaimed Harry. "Your father would have to do that. They're his elves!"

"No, they weren't," said Malfoy calmly. He held out a hand, and when Harry didn't react, used his other hand to point to a heavy signet ring he wore on his middle finger. "I am the scion Malfoy, now."

Harry thought back to his pureblood culture course from Auror training. Scion had a particular meaning. Malfoy held the manor and all the other family estates in his own name, then, but in trust for the family. He would also control access to the vaults, and own all the house elves, and have the wards here answer to him and him alone.

"Did you really free the elves? All of them?"

"Yes, but don't start thinking me in agreement with Granger's ridiculous nonsense. I didn't do it for them; I did it for me."

"To . . . what? Become a better person? Um . . . self-actualize?"

Malfoy laughed. "No, not at all. It's not as though I wanted to free them. And Merlin knows, my mother and father certainly had something to say. Not that they could gainsay me." He waggled the ring a bit. 

"So, why did you do it?"

"Family honor."

"But-- there's no law, not yet, though Hermione keeps trying. And you don't personally believe in freeing elves. And your parents certainly don't."

"All true."

Harry was getting sick of answers that never answered anything.

"Then how the hell could it have anything to do with family honor?"

"This is why I said that questions could be problematic," said Malfoy with a smile that would have been slightly apologetic on anyone else's features. Coming from Malfoy, Harry discounted that. "I'm afraid that for the time being, you're going to have to accept that I won't discuss my reasons further."

" _Why_ won't you discuss it?"

Malfoy slanted him a glance. "I must say, I'm concerned about the way my tax Galleons are apparently being spent. Three years of Auror training and you didn't learn any more subtle interrogation techniques than that?"

Harry's own glance back was disgusted. "I'm not at my best just now. Your fault."

"Yes, well, we must get you back to full health. Nothing less will suit me. More soup and bread?" 

As soon as Harry looked at the empty bowl, he realized that he was pleasantly full and couldn't possibly eat more. Actually, he was more than full. _Sated._ And warm in the soft sheets and comforters, this time in old, soft clothes his body recognized as home. Harry yawned, and as he stretched his jaw, a delicious lassitude began to steal over him. He couldn't understand it, unless . . . "You . . . soup, sleeping potion . . ."

"No, no, nothing like that. You're naturally tired, being ill."

As Harry's eyes drifted closed, he felt a hand feathering over his brow.

"You . . . seen the scar, plenty of times. Jus' a scar, now . . ."

"Just a scar," said Draco softly.

He said something else, but it was too faint for Harry to catch it as he drifted off to sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry finally felt close to normal the next time he woke up. He insisted on having colors back, and although Malfoy had objected that it was probably too soon, after five minutes of argument, Harry got his way.

The colors made him feel a little light-headed, but maybe that was just the shock of finding out that a Slytherin git like Malfoy apparently preferred a blue-and-gold color scheme with not a shade of green in sight.

Either way, Harry could handle it.

"And I want to get up."

"Out of the question."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Malfoy, you'll either let me out of this bed or you'll end up with soiled sheets."

"Ah. Well, you might have said," murmured Malfoy. "I've been taking care of that for you with charms while you were ill, but I imagine you can make it to the loo and back without incident. Go ahead."

Now that he had his keeper's permission, Harry was finally able to swing his legs off the bed and stand up. The room tilted alarmingly, so much so that he had to grab hold of a bedpost to stay balanced.

"Perhaps you need a hand, after all."

"Oh, fuck you."

"You know, Harry," said Malfoy in a conversational tone, "it's not a crime to need a little help now and again. It won't make you less your usual strong self to admit it, either."

"I'm fine!"

"You're _ill_ and as you pointed out, it's my fault, so allow me."

Standing up from the chair where he'd been reading dailies, Malfoy took three steps to reach Harry and extended an arm. 

Harry stared at it suspiciously. He didn't want to accept help from the very person who had ruined his wedding and said those foul things to Ginny, who even now was keeping him on a leash, for God's sake, but on the other hand, at least Malfoy wasn't wearing pyjamas any longer. Sometime during Harry's latest nap he'd got dressed, and when Harry had demanded colors, Malfoy's clothes had ended up being dark grey trousers and a pale grey knit shirt. 

Harry reluctantly clutched onto Malfoy's arm and hobbled across the room.

"That's my dressing room," said Malfoy in an amused tone when Harry veered toward the wrong door. "Go left. Even with all the charms a wizard can employ, I find I still prefer my bathing facilities to have access to fresh air."

Oh . . . a _window_. If they were on the ground floor, maybe Harry could climb through. The blinds in the bedroom had been closed, so Harry had no real idea where he was.

A moment later he was in the bathroom, clutching awkwardly onto a counter to stay upright. When he looked through the bathroom window, wincing a bit at the light, he realized that Malfoy's bedroom was at least thirty feet above the ground. And there didn't look to be a trellis, not that Harry could have climbed down it in his current state.

"You're tethered," said Malfoy gently, making Harry realize he'd been too obvious about staring out the window. "I don't need wards or bars to keep you where you belong, Harry. Would you like some fresh air? Shall I open the window for you?"

"Where I belong!" Harry ignored the bit about the window.

"Yes. You belong here, now."

"Belong to you, you mean."

"That too." Malfoy was unsmiling. "No fresh air, then? I'll leave you to see to matters. Five minutes only, and then I'm coming in."

Harry almost growled. "I thought I'd have a bath. I feel grotty."

Malfoy drew himself up as if offended. "You do not. My cleaning and freshening charms are second to none. You feel like a breezy spring day."

That was accurate in its own way, not that Harry was going to admit it. "I still want a bath."

"As you wish." Malfoy flicked his wand, sending neatly folded towels wafting across the room. "There. Within reach of the tub, now. The taps still work, though I haven't used them since I was quite young. The room responds to ambient magic, you see, and wand or no, you certainly have enough of that surging inside you. Just think about what you want."

He gave Harry a final, fleeting smile. "I'll know if you're in any sort of serious distress, but do try not to fall, hmm?"

The door swung closed behind him, apparently on its own.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry very nearly did fall on the way from the counter to the loo, and that was when he learned that Malfoy hadn't been kidding about the room seeing to his needs.

He wished for a handrail, and one appeared. 

Another one popped up later as he made his way over what felt like miles of marble tile to reach the tub. 

And a third one allowed him to descend the stairs into the tub itself.

As tubs went, it rivaled the one in the prefect's bath, though it wasn't quite as large.

Still, for one person it amounted to a small, personal pool. Harry stretched out and wished for warm water up to the middle of his chest. It appeared instantly, which made this tub better than the one at Hogwarts. Merlin, the prefect's tub had taken _forever_ to fill, even with all those taps.

He was just beginning to feel the warm water soaking into his sore muscles when the door swung open and Malfoy strolled in as though he owned the place. Which he did.

"Five minutes, I said," he announced at the look on Harry's face.

Harry hurriedly wished for bubbles. He was a little surprised when he got them, but perhaps Malfoy didn't care one way or another. 

"You knew I thought that was only when I was going to use the loo!"

"Yes, I knew that. But if I'd said so, you wouldn't have taken the bath. And you wanted one, so I wanted you to have it." Malfoy paused. "But I also wanted you to understand that you need to take me seriously when I speak."

"Fine, so you mean what you say." _When it suits you,_ Harry mentally added. "Now, get out. I'm in the bath."

"Oh, I think I can endure the sight." He sat down on a curved chair next to the foot of the tub and leaned over to swirl a hand through the bubbles, sniffing his fingers afterwards. "Did you wish for sea-salt specifically?"

"No," said Harry crossly, deciding that telling Malfoy to get out again would be wasted breath. "I wasn't even thinking about the ocean."

"Then that's just the room's attempt to get to know you better." Malfoy leaned back and crossed his ankles atop a small ottoman that suddenly popped into existence. "It knows me quite well by now, of course. I get rosewater dotted with petals unless I'm very careful to specify something else."

"Like I care, Malfoy."

"But the bubbles do make me curious," said Malfoy as though Harry hadn't interrupted. "And the way you changed clothes under the duvet. You must understand by now that I've seen every inch of you, caring for you personally as I've been. And even were that not the case, we're both men. We have all the same bits."

"Yeah, well, my bits are none of your business," said Harry, swishing the bubbles to make sure he was decently covered down there. "Or my arse. You claimed I was offering you my arse, but let's just get one thing clear. _I wasn't._ I just wanted to save Ginny."

"You must believe I'm an idiot," said Malfoy scathingly. " _Yes_ , I understood that you weren't truly offering me sex."

"And since you can't make me do anything--" Harry scowled, thinking of the "universes of other magic" Malfoy had mentioned. And he didn't even have a wand! All he had was his physical strength, which was almost nil at the moment. "Though you're not above _Imperius_ , are you? Is that your nasty little plan? Is that why you're working so hard to help me get well, because even you aren't low enough to rape your slave when he's too weak to stand on his own?"

Malfoy regarded him with cool, gray eyes. "Why would I bother answering that, when you'd just doubt every word?"

"Because I want an answer."

Another long moment, Harry feeling like some sort of specimen on display, the way Malfoy was staring. "Another trade, perhaps. I'll answer your questions if you answer one of mine, first."

Harry thought that over. He could just assume that Malfoy meant to rape him and use all manner of foul magic to do the deed, or he could know it for certain and be all the more prepared to defend himself. Then again, he didn't know what Malfoy's question would be. "Ask, and if I answer, consider it a deal."

"Very well, then. When did you go hungry?"

Harry gaped. "What are you on about?"

"You said that hunger gets old fast, and you were clearly speaking from experience. So?"

Oh. Harry shrugged. He hadn't thought of those times in years. "During the war, when Hermione and Ron and I were in hiding, it was a struggle to find enough food out in the forest. And before that, when I was very young, my relatives used to be stingy with food. Not all the time, but enough." He could afford to be philosophical about that, now. "Turned out they were doing me a favor. It meant that during the war I could stand the deprivation better."

"Your relatives _starved_ you?"

"It wasn't as blatant as that." Harry sighed.

"But-- that's appalling, it is. How can you sound so matter-of-fact about it?"

"Because that's just my life," said Harry wearily. "If I wasn't hungry as a child, I was being forced into duels with Voldemort or hunted by Dementors or sent off on quests or expected to die for the greater good. And I thought I was finally through the bad times and about to get a normal life, but you proved me wrong, didn't you? Now answer my own damned question."

Malfoy leaned over and swirled his fingers through the bubbles again, looking close to that trance state Harry had noticed before.

"Answer!"

That seemed to snap Malfoy out of his daze. "Am I above _Imperius_? You know I'm not, though I haven't used it since the war. Is that my nasty little plan? No. Is that why I'm working so hard to get you well, because even I'm not low enough to rape my slave when he's too weak to stand on his own? No."

"Wait," said Harry, wishing he'd asked that last question in a more straightforward way. But he hadn't known that Malfoy was going to be so literal about answering. "What's that mean? You're going to try to rape me even before I can stand on my own?"

"Oh, but that's a new question," said Malfoy smoothly. "Shall we have another trade?"

Harry thought about it and shrugged, sending a shock wave through the bubbles. His bits remained covered, though, so that was all right. "I'm revising my question, then. How long are you going to wait before you try something?"

"By try something I presume you mean rape."

Harry just stared at him.

"Then my own question will be . . ." Malfoy lapsed into thought. "Hmm. So much to choose from. Very well . . . why did you faint on the train that time? Or, to rephrase: why do Dementors bother you so much?"

"Why do you care?"

Malfoy smiled. "Oh, that answer I'll supply for free. I'd like to get to know you better. Don't you think I should, considering our circumstances?"

"No," said Harry curtly.

"Well, I think I should. So, Dementors?"

"They make me hear my mother screaming as Voldemort slaughters her," said Harry bluntly. "And I didn't know I could remember that until third year on the train. First time I can remember hearing her voice, too. Happy now? It makes all your jibes about my dead mother so much more potent, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't make jibes like that now. I'm all too aware how fortunate I am to still have a mother." Malfoy paused. "And I'm sorry that I said such unkind things to you in the past, Harry."

Sure he was. "If you think you're so fortunate to have a mother, why did you talk to her like that?" exploded Harry. The memory still bothered him. He didn't even like Narcissa Malfoy, for all he owed her a lot, but _yes_ , the memory bothered him. Maybe because he knew that she loved Draco with all her heart. And for him to act like he was her accountant instead of her son?

"Like what?"

"Like you care more about your precious vaults than about her!"

"Oh." Malfoy folded his hands together in his lap. "That's part of being the scion Malfoy. I have to look to the family's best interests. Now, my mother has a very generous allowance to spend as she pleases, but I simply must draw the line when she executes a vault draft of a thousand thousand Galleons without speaking to me in advance. That's all."

Harry felt faint. "Isn't a thousand thousand a million?"

"Don't even ask what she spent it on. You wouldn't believe me. But no matter. She'll set it right, now that I've mentioned the issue. Didn't your Muggle relatives ever have words about finances?"

"Not that I remember."

"Odd," said Malfoy. "I would have expected more conflict, since they had far less money."

"Yeah, well maybe money's one of those things that brings out the worst in people," snapped Harry. 

"Hmm. You know, you might have a point," said Malfoy thoughtfully. "Though I think that large houses can give relatives the space they sometimes need. Now, it was quite a small dwelling where you grew up, wasn't it?"

What was this, more getting-to-know-you? Like Malfoy could have any reason to want to do _that._ He was probably bored. Or looking for verbal ammunition he could use later. 

In any case, Harry had had enough of being sidetracked, even if the detour had been his fault to begin with. "It was a normal Muggle house." Which was true. Nothing abnormal about the house, just the occupants. "So I told you about Dementors. What about my question?"

"How long am I going to wait before I rape you?" Malfoy shook his head. "There's no way for me to answer that."

"You double-dealing Slytherin!"

" _Because_ ," Malfoy went right on, "I am _not_ going to force myself on you. Make what you like of that, but there it is."

"But you said I have to share your bed with you!"

"So you do."

"But at the wedding, all you could talk about was sex, sex, sex--" Harry got it, then. Oh. That had been when he'd intended to enslave Ginny. What had made Harry think that Malfoy was even bent? Just his offhand remark about taking Harry's arse? A remark he had followed up by saying that he'd prefer to have Ginny, when it came to sex?

"Why did you let me act as Ginny's proxy, then?"

"Family honor," said Malfoy, standing up. "And no, I won't explain further. I know you don't trust me, Harry, but you can absolutely rely on the fact that I have no intention of raping you. You'll share my bed because I want you tethered close. And because you're mine."

Harry couldn't have explained why he felt shaken, unless it was from relief. But that made no sense, as he had no reason to trust Malfoy or this "family honor" that seemed to obsess him.

"Do you need any help getting out?"

The question shook Harry out of his thoughts. "No."

"Five more minutes, then, and wish for handrails again. I'll be at the bathroom door to help you back to bed. Would you like anything in particular for the evening meal?"

"Two weeks worth of the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_."

"I meant food. Nobody will starve you here."

"Then don't starve me of news. I want to know what's been reported about my disaster of a wedding, and I want it from a source other than you."

"Five minutes," repeated Malfoy. "And remember that I mean what I say. If you aren't at the door by then, I'll come in and scoop you out of the tub dripping wet."

He would do it, too, the bastard. 

The minute Malfoy was gone, Harry levered himself out of the tub and dried himself with the towels, which were annoyingly pre-heated and softer than dandelion fluff. Hell, why mince words? The feeling of them made him want to moan, just as the food had, and it was damned irritating. Harry didn't want to find any comfort here, where he was destined to be a slave to a bizarre Slytherin who pretended to care about his welfare and made promises that couldn't possibly be true.

He was at the door, dressed in his tee shirt and transfigured jeans in less than three minutes.

And Malfoy, damn him, was waiting, just as he'd said.

oOoOoOoOoOo

There was nothing in the papers about his enslavement.

Harry searched through them all again, scattering pages of newsprint across the bed, and still . . . nothing. There wasn't even much about his wedding -- just a small notice on page three of each paper, a notice which ran for five days in a row and then stopped.

_The Potter-Weasley nuptials have been cancelled. The parties involved beg your patience as it may take some time for the large number of gifts to be returned._

"I don't understand," he said finally. "This should be a huge scandal. I mean, slavery _is_ illegal, so even if the Aurors can't do anything to free me, they should be knocking down your door! And there was plenty of press at the wedding, and Ginny must have been hysterical when you sent her back, so why aren't all three of us being dragged through the mud by Rita Skeeter?"

"Aren't you forgetting that there was nobody present for our confrontation except the two of us and Ginevra Weasley?"

"And Mr Wimpole!"

"Oh, the magic held him stupefied from the first instant I made a claim against the spells he was summoning to bond the two of you. All he knows is that the wedding was halted and when he came to, the groom was missing."

"He must have woken up to pandemonium, and Ginny certainly knows what went wrong with her own wedding--" Harry's breath caught. "Or did you _Obliviate_ her as you sent her back?"

"I didn't. But she won't be divulging any details of what happened, either. In fact, she told everyone that you, she, and Wimpole vanished because the bonding magic had sensed that she was having second thoughts."

"Why the hell would she do that!?!" The answer hit Harry before Malfoy could speak. Hit him like a ton of bricks. "The fucking spell. So taking family vengeance like this wouldn't result in retaliation, wouldn't cause a vendetta. Any witnesses would be magically forced to tell some cock-and-bull story--"

"Of course. That's why the spell sucked us all away and gave us privacy. Quite convenient that the marriage magic would do the same thing if one of you _were_ having second thoughts when the fateful question was asked." Malfoy gave him a considering look. "Did your Auror training include a course in logic?"

Harry ignored the question. "Is Ginny unable to speak of what really happened, or does she not even know the truth?"

"Cancel my recent query."

Oh. Right. Ginny had come to Malfoy Manor twice to see Harry, and hadn't been admitted. So she definitely knew he was here. "She can't speak or write or communicate the truth in any way," Harry said dully. "None of my other friends know what you did or where I am or what I've become."

"In all honestly, Harry, I didn't think you'd want gossip like that floating about."

"I don't, but--" Harry swallowed. "My friends are going to think it out of character that I didn't even try to work things out with her. And the Aurors must be looking for me by now, even if they don't know to look here. I haven't been to work."

"One thing at a time," said Malfoy smoothly, an oval pad appearing out of nowhere to buff his nails as he sat in a chair a few feet from the bed. "The story she told when she returned without you was that the marriage magic had sensed her reluctance. You did try to work things out, but Ginny's cold feet just kept getting colder. When you realized that all was lost, you angrily announced that you needed time to think, and that if she wanted to cancel the wedding, she'd have to be the one to go back and tell everyone."

"Not too gallant of me."

Malfoy ignored that. "In any case, your friends, the press, and the whole wizarding world all think you've gone somewhere to lick your wounds."

"Your twisted little story's got a huge gaping hole right in the center of it," spat Harry. "Ginny's loved me since she was ten years old! She's practically always wanted to marry me, and her whole family knows it. There's no way any of them will believe that she got cold feet right in the middle of having her dream come true!"

"It must be so flattering to be someone's dream," said Malfoy, sneering. "But in this case it works against you. Of course they'll believe her. Love and hero-worship can be easily confused, so who's to say what she really feels for you? Except Ginevra herself, and she'll be saying that it hit her suddenly that she's _just not certain_."

Fuck. That did sound plausible. And when her parents remembered how Ginny had prattled on about him before she'd so much as met him . . . .

"Well, it's still going to be suspicious when I vanish and _never come back_!" shouted Harry. "My friends will be going spare! And I'm probably sacked from my job by now, a job I worked three long years to get, thank you so fucking much, and--"

"Calm down or I'll make you drink a calming draught."

"You will not! You can't make me do anything, and if you fucking come near me I'll smash your nose in and see how you like it!"

"Oh, Harry." Malfoy shook his head. "All that anger and nowhere to put it. I'll have to do something about that, I think--"

Harry had felt his strength coming back before, but now it surged through every muscle, every nerve, adrenaline leaping along his veins. He launched himself off the bed at Malfoy, his fingers curled to strangle him.

Malfoy saw him coming, but he merely sat there calmly and waited to be attacked.

He didn't even lift his wand.

Or try to protect it.

Harry slammed into an invisible wall about a foot from Malfoy, his hands striking it first, something in them snapping just before gravity yanked him down to the plush carpet underfoot. He didn't mean to scream, but the sudden, shocking pain in his fingers was so violent that an agonized whimper escaped him before he could stop it. After that, he clamped his lips shut and kept the pain inside. 

"That wasn't what I had in mind when I said you needed to shed your anger," said Malfoy as he dropped to a kneel beside Harry. "And now, look. You've set your recovery back by at least a full day."

The pain was blinding, now. Nothing like _Cruciatus_ , of course, but still a hell of a lot more than it should be. He'd had broken bones plenty of times before. It wasn't like this. It didn't make him want to vomit--

But that was what Harry proceeded to do. He threw up, all over Malfoy's pristine snow-white carpet and the hand that had begun to stroke his chest through the tee shirt. He couldn't stop throwing up. Even when there was nothing left in his stomach, he heaved and gagged and thought that if it didn't end soon, the convulsions wracking him would kill him. 

Malfoy was . . . strange. Even sick as he was, Harry could tell that. He didn't recoil, or scream about his carpet, or threaten to punish Harry. He didn't wipe his hand off, or make a sardonic remark.

No, he moved his clean hand to Harry's back and rubbed in slow, firm circles, speaking soothingly all the while. Harry couldn't make out the words. There might not have been any. It might have been nothing but a croon.

It probably _was_ nothing but a croon, because when Harry's stomach was finally starting to calm, the door opened and a female voice spoke; Harry had no trouble understanding _her_.

"I heard a ward twinge--"

"Yes, and it's well under control, Mother," said Malfoy calmly. 

Harry felt her gaze on him, a ray of warmth the seemed to lift his hair and separate the strands. "Oh, Merlin, Draco. I'll summon a Healer for our Harry--"

"Don't. I know what he needs."

"But Draco, his fingers--"

"Are _mine._ "

Harry shivered at the warning in that tone. Or maybe he was shaking with the after-effects of too much vomiting. His throat felt like it had been sandblasted, his whole midsection ached, and his hands were still screaming with the kind of pain that had made him vomit in the first place. It was shooting in bolts from fingers to wrists, now, and radiating up toward his elbows--

And then it was absolutely gone, the cessation so sudden that he whimpered with relief.

Malfoy's wand was out, Malfoy's wand was out-- he'd cast something, something to take away the agony of bones that felt more crushed than broken . . . but his wand was out, and near one of Harry's mangled hands, but Malfoy was saying something to his mother that was nothing but a buzz in Harry's ears, he was distracted--

Harry saw his chance and took it, grabbing the wand before Malfoy could stop him. 

He couldn't bend his fingers, though; the wand clattered out of his grasp and then was seized by long, pale fingers to be tucked away somewhere Harry couldn't see.

" . . . are going to have to have a long talk," he heard Malfoy say through what sounded like miles of fog between them. "But for now, _Lacus Somniorum_ . . ."

And Harry was plunged into darkness.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry's first sight when he woke up was Malfoy was sitting tailor-style on the bed, his arms crossed. The whole effect was reminiscent of some sort of swami, except no turban. Or . . . all the clothes were wrong. Malfoy was dressed in black trousers with a pale blue shirt, which made Harry wonder how much time had passed.

He sat up gingerly, pushing up on his hands, only realizing afterwards that they should have hurt. "How long this time?" he rasped.

"Two days," snapped Malfoy, drawing his wand. But not to hex, Harry soon found out. " _Accio_ tumbler. _Aguamenti_. Drink."

Harry did, feeling more alert and aware with each passing second. Not that he was at a hundred percent. Maybe eighty. Maybe. "Um--"

"Do. Not. Speak." Malfoy threw him a disgusted glance. "I hope we don't have to repeat this sequence _ad nauseum_ , Harry. You're never going to accomplish anything attacking me unless your goal is bedrest. Now, given how stubborn you are, I doubt the message has sunk in yet, so _my_ goal today is to make sure it does. We'll start with my wand. Even in your addled state, I hope you noticed that it worked perfectly well for me?"

"Yeah, um--"

"You will not be able to transfer its allegiance from me to you. _You will not._ I am the scion Malfoy and I've taken steps to guarantee that my wand is proof against that sort of treachery. In point of fact, I've extended that protection to every wand in the manor."

Harry was still working through that when Malfoy went on.

"That's not to say that our wands won't work for you," he said, to Harry's utter shock. "They will. Probably better than you expect, because as I told you before, you belong here, now."

Well, if he was trying to make sure that Harry did his best to steal wands, he was certainly succeeding!

"Now, what I want to do is help you fully understand what I'm talking about," continued Malfoy. "I'm going to hand you my wand, Harry. If you are very, _very_ stupid, you'll disregard everything I say and try to hex me when I'm not expecting it. In which case, your spell will hit the shield _you_ hit, and reflect back on you, and I will be very, _very_ annoyed to have to heal you for a third time in three weeks!"

His voice softened. "However, I _will_ heal you, because you're mine, and I take care of what is mine."

Harry found his vocal cords, though even after the water his voice still sounded rough. "You put a slavery spell on me. You can't expect me not to fight back!"

"You can't fight back. All you can do is get hurt. Which I will prove to you, if you'll let me. Or you can prove it to yourself through painful trial-and-error." Malfoy paused. "I suppose there's nothing left to say. Your type needs to do. So here, take my wand."

Harry didn't believe he would really hand it over until the git laid it lengthwise on the rumpled blankets covering Harry's legs. Even after he laid it down, he still didn't believe his eyes.

He wasted no time before snatching it up, though.

And he wasted no time pointing it at the space between Malfoy's eyes. A curse sprang to his lips, one he shouldn't cast, and certainly not as an Auror, but he wasn't an Auror any longer, was he? Malfoy's fault! And he was just _so angry_ , and if he could cast it because a Death Eater had spit at McGonagall, he could certainly cast it at the man who'd ruined his wedding and his entire life-- _"Cru--"_

" _Please_ do not torture yourself!" shouted Malfoy. "Are you insane?"

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure he believed that bit about a shield appearing to reflect his spell back at him, but it was true that one had appeared to ward off his physical attack. 

"Let me demonstrate," said Malfoy urgently. "So you'll understand what you're doing and how the spell binding us works. I don't want to see you get hurt again. I truly don't."

Harry sneered at him, and kept the wand leveled. Malfoy really shouldn't have handed to him. He was never getting it back. "Then demonstrate."

"Summon something."

Harry did, and found that indeed, he hadn't mastered the wand when he'd grabbed it during Malfoy's conversation with his mother. Oh, the wand worked for him, as Malfoy had claimed it would, but it felt . . . sluggish. Nothing like his own wand, or the hawthorn wand . . .

He ended up with the brilliant blue vase cradled in his lap.

Malfoy licked his lips like he was nervous. "Harry . . . how are your Quidditch reflexes at the moment? Because . . . I'd like you to hurl the vase at me, as hard as you can . . .but only if you're prepared to duck. Fast. I don't fancy healing you of concussion."

"I _do_ fancy giving you one!"

"I know. But that won't happen no matter how you try. It's as I said. The only thing you can accomplish attacking me is to harm yourself."

Maybe, maybe not. So Harry threw the vase with all his might and ducked.

The vase bounced off something and came flying back in the direction it had come, sailing over Harry's head and smashing into Malfoy's headboard, where it shattered into thousands of pieces that rained down atop the bed.

"You would pick my favorite thing in the room," said Malfoy sourly. "And _reparo_ doesn't work very well on lapis. However, if you're starting to get the picture, I'll consider it a gemstone well-spent."

Trust Malfoy to have vases carved out of gemstones. And he complained about his mother's spending habits!

"So I can't attack you physically," said Harry, sighing. And he'd had such hopes. All that hand-to-hand combat he'd learned in the Auror program . . . wasted.

"And you can't attack me magically. That's next." Malfoy pulled another wand out of a pocket.

The hawthorn wand. 

"I'm ready now, you see. Try to hex me . . . even use _Crucio_ if you like. If you duck, and I cast something that collides with your spell, the worst that should happen is another one of my family heirlooms gets destroyed."

After seeing the vase hurled back at him, Harry wasn't so eager to do this experiment with _Cruciatus_. "I'll just try a disarming spell."

"As you wish."

Harry adjusted his grip and aimed. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

The spell bounced and flew back towards him as he ducked, only to be driven off course by a streak of white that came from Malfoy's direction. 

"Questions?"

Like Harry would be stupid enough to tip his hand. He knew what his next strategy would have to be, though. It made him a bit sick, but it wasn't as though he had a lot of choices. He'd have to get a wand at Malfoy's mother's throat, and use her as leverage to make Malfoy release the tether. Or his father. Yeah, that would be better, except that Harry didn't know if Lucius Malfoy was in the manor. He hadn't been popping in like his wife had. 

"Perhaps this is the time to mention that the same shield protecting me from your aggression will protect everyone else in the manor, in almost exactly the same way," said Malfoy coolly. "Which is a good thing, believe me. If you were to harm my mother, Harry, I think I'd lose all patience with you."

Damn! Right then, more than ever before, Harry wished he'd listened to Snape about learning to conceal his thoughts.

"Almost exactly?" he questioned.

Malfoy favored him with a smile that was positively hostile. "Why, yes. If you attack anyone other than myself, not only will the shield manifest and throw your own assault back at you, but you'll also lose consciousness until I arrive to deal with the situation."

Fuck.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " snapped Malfoy.

His spell worked just fine, of course. His wand was yanked from Harry's hand by an invisible force, and then Malfoy was sitting there with two wands while Harry had none.

"Got it," said Harry dully. "That's your revenge, then. To keep me close night and day and watch me struggle with the knowledge that you've taken the wizarding world from me. But then, you didn't ever believe I belonged in it anyway, did you? As far as you're concerned, I'm just the boy with the Mudblood mother--"

"Don't insult your mother," said Malfoy quietly. "And don't be such a maudlin fool. It's not revenge I'm after. I merely want you here."

" _Why?_ "

He knew the answer before Malfoy spoke, and even said it with him, their two voices in unison: "Family honor."

Harry went right on speaking. "But I don't understand what that means, or what it means to you, or--"

"I know you don't, but I can't explain. Not yet. Not until . . . I don't know when."

Harry sighed, so tired of his life that he could barely keep his eyes open. He wanted to sleep and sleep and never wake, because there wasn't any point, was there? His life was never going to be normal, never.

And that was the only thing he'd ever really wanted. 

Well, that and a family of his own.

Malfoy had stolen both dreams from him, and now, for all Harry wanted to sleep, he never wanted to dream again.

He lay down in the bed, rolled away from Malfoy, and stared at the wall. "Go away."

"It's my room."

"It's your whole fucking manor," said Harry, but without much heat. "Go away anyway. I want to sleep. Alone."

"I can't leave you alone." 

In other circumstances, a statement like that would have been a threat, but Harry understood now. Malfoy didn't mean it sexually. 

"Well, then shut up so I can get some rest. I'm tired." _Of you. Of life. Of everything . . ._

"We aren't finished."

_I am_.

"Harry, look at me."

He didn't.

Malfoy came around the side of the bed and knelt on the floor, face-to-face with Harry.

Harry promptly closed his eyes. He couldn't fight back, couldn't even defend himself against Malfoy _or_ any of his family, Lucius included. And as long as he was tethered, he couldn't escape.

There was nothing left.

"Harry," said Malfoy in a voice so soft it barely moved the air. "You didn't let me finish. Here. This is for you."

Something thin and hard was pressed into his hand.

Harry didn't want to grasp it, but his fingers curled around it on their own. And then he recognized the feel, the only thing in the world that felt quite that way.

A wand.

Not _his_ wand, true . . . but a wand.

A sensation of warmth and acceptance seemed to flow through his fingers and up his arm, and all the while, Malfoy's quiet voice filled the space between them.

"Someday, you'll get your holly wand back," he went on. "I promise, Harry. I swear it as the scion Malfoy. But not yet, and I don't know when, and I know this isn't the same for you, but please, Harry. Don't give up. I never meant to make you feel so helpless, I just wanted you to understand so you'd stop hurting yourself. And I wanted you to know that there's no choice in this. You have to stay here, but it's not to hurt you. It's not."

Harry gripped the wand more tightly.

"Look at me?" asked Malfoy, a note of pleading in his voice.

Harry thought about it once, twice, three times. Then, he opened his eyes.

"It will be all right," Malfoy said, leaning back on his heels. Away from Harry. "I never meant you to think that I'd deny you magic. It's your birthright, as much as mine. And . . . and . . . I admire your skill at magic, Harry. I do. I want you to use that wand as much as you please and . . . well, you won't be able to master it, but you can still make it your own."

"As . . . as much as I please?"

"Yes. You can even sleep with it if that will make you feel better. Just don't attack anyone. Not physically, not magically. Because . . . I know you won't believe me, not yet, but Harry . . . nobody here will attack _you_."

"Yeah," said Harry gruffly, but not to say that he could trust that. He just meant that he'd heard.

"Now, I'll let you rest if you wish, but I'd much prefer it if you'd eat something first. The injury to your hand drained you physically, I know it did. So what would tempt you? Anything you want."

Harry shifted in the bed. "Chips, I guess. And sausages. With salad cream."

Malfoy made a very slight face, then wiped his expression clean almost at once. "Yes. I'll see to it. Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Not from you."

"All right." Malfoy rose to his feet in one movement and headed toward the door.

"But . . . thank you for the wand," added Harry in a low voice.

He felt stupid saying a thing like that, but he did know that Malfoy didn't have to give him anything, let alone a wand. 

The hawthorn wand, he realized as Malfoy stood in the open doorway and spoke to someone out of sight in the corridor. Malfoy had mastered it again, that much was obvious.

And now, he'd given it to Harry.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The meal turned out to be very . . . interesting.

For the first time since Malfoy had disrupted his wedding, Harry didn't feel frantic inside. He wouldn't say that he was calm, either, but having a wand in hand made a big difference. Even a wand that couldn't really be used against Malfoy. Somehow, just holding it cradled while he ate meant he felt less vulnerable. Less naked.

It wasn't logical, because he knew he didn't have the upper hand, wand or no.

It wasn't logical, but it was so.

Another strange thing about the meal was the food. Chips and sausages, just as he'd asked, but the chips weren't rectangular slabs of potato. They were carved symbols of the tarot, each one such a finely wrought work of art that Harry felt guilty eating them. Once he tried one, though, there was no chance of him being noble. When had chips ever, _ever_ tasted like this? Deep-fried to a perfect crisp that literally melted in his mouth, yet not oily in the least? And yet he could taste the oil permeating each miniature artwork -- and when had oil ever tasted so good, so fresh?

Even the salt was special: flakes of pink that had an tangy flavor that went beyond mere salt.

The salad cream was unbelievable; it sure hadn't come from a plastic bottle labeled _Heinz_. And the sausages had a hint of maple syrup flavor about them.

Malfoy ate with him, this time. That was new, too. 

Of course, he wasn't eating chips and sausages, but neither did his tray contain anything Harry would have expected. 

Malfoy was having alphabet soup for dinner.

True, he wasn't eating very much of it. Mostly, he seemed to stir it and stare down like it held the secrets of the universe. Occasionally he would take a sip from a silver spoon.

They ate in silence, for the most part. Harry was grateful for that. He was too tired to deal with any of Malfoy's non-answer answers or try to counter the piercing questions he liked to ask. 

He wasn't at peace, but at least he wasn't at war. Not at the moment.

"Are your chips all right?" Malfoy asked after he'd finished half his soup and set the tray aside.

"Yeah." Harry decided he'd rather not rave about them. There was more to life than food, after all.

"Is that your favorite meal?"

_Why do you want to get to know me? You never did before._

Harry didn't bother asking. No point, when he knew the answer already.

_Family honor_. Whatever that meant.

"I don't understand you," Harry suddenly said. That was the crux of everything, wasn't it? "Why are you making promises and providing things like my own clothes and the food I'd prefer, and . . ."

"You can say it, you know," said Malfoy. "The word you're converging upon is 'nice.' I can be nice, Harry. I am familiar with the concept."

"You weren't nice at my wedding! You weren't nice at Hogwarts! You don't know the first thing about it!"

Malfoy turned to look out the window. The blue velvet curtains were pulled back now to show stars twinkling in the night sky. Malfoy stared at them as he spoke. "Perhaps I've had to learn. My life during the past few years has been . . . illuminating, to say the least."

Harry knew nothing about that life, except that Malfoy had kept out of sight and at some point, apparently freed his elves. Oh, and he also knew that when he'd come to the manor to return Malfoy's wand, the other man had been polite and reserved, thanking Harry gravely but speaking as though his mind were on other matters. 

"Distant" was probably the best description. Very distant. He hadn't even seemed that happy to get the hawthorn wand back. In fact, he'd acted like its return would mean he had a lot of thinking to do.

"Illuminating how?" Harry asked now, because the more he understood about his situation, the better.

Malfoy paused for a long moment before he spoke, his gaze still on the stars lighting up the sky. "I filled in the dungeons. It took six months."

Harry blinked. There weren't dungeons here any longer? "Why?"

"So they could never be used again."

All right . . . "Why did it take six months?"

"Because I did the work by myself."

"Without magic?"

That caused a small smile. "No, not without magic. I wanted them properly sealed off for eternity, and Muggle concrete is hardly up to the task. I used earth magic to eliminate the basement level of the manor entirely. It was exhausting, time-consuming work, particularly for one person."

"But you could have hired a crew to do it for you," Harry pointed out.

"Not when the work was mine by rights to do."

That probably went back to "family honor" and the fact that Malfoy was the scion. His idea of how to lead the family didn't include dungeons, apparently. But that didn't surprise Harry very much, not when he thought about it. Malfoy had hated being forced to torture people on Voldemort's orders. He wasn't the same sort of man his father was.

None of which explained the vengeance he'd planned to wreak on the Weasley family. 

"Why would you get rid of your dungeons but decide to demand a slave?"

Another long stare, this time at Harry. "Dungeons aren't nearly as useful."

"And I am?"

"Oh, yes," said Malfoy softly. "You aren't yet, of course. But you're going to be. We'll start tomorrow."

"Start _what?_ "

"Your training."

Harry almost swung a fist at him. _Slave_ -training? He didn't think so! 

He remembered in time that the violence would only rebound on himself, and lowered his hand.

"Don't worry about it," said Malfoy, yawning a bit as he flicked his wand to send both their trays into the corridor. "You'd do better to sleep in preparation. Go and have a warm shower before bed. I'll take the second shift so that you can get as much rest as possible. Do you prefer to sleep on the right or the left?"

"I'm not sleeping in the same bed with you!"

"Of course you are. You've done it over a dozen times already, and I think you understand already that the tether won't give you any choice."

" _You_ won't, you mean."

"That too." Malfoy waved toward the bathroom. "Go, Harry. It'll get you away from me for a few minutes, won't it?"

Harry jumped out of bed, grabbed a clean set of night clothes from the wardrobe, and slammed the bathroom door on the way in. He went to the window first and was able to open it but not lean out -- the tether was that finely adjusted.

Sighing, he gave in to the inevitable and took a warm shower. The most luxurious shower in the world, mostly likely, not that he cared. So what if shampoo appeared, already smeared across his palms when he wished for it? So what if it smelled of pine trees at first, but when he frowned at the memory of the Forest of Dean, the scent shifted to something light and floral? So what if the shower cubicle was large enough for ten people and had jets spraying water at him from all angles, the overall effect better than a thorough massage?

None of that was going to make him happy here.

Well, at least he had a wand now. He'd used it to lock the door, though Malfoy could probably get in if he wanted. After his shower, he cast a shaving charm on himself. Not that he cared if he was scruffy to look at, but he hated the itchy feel of a beard just getting started.

He got dressed in his pyjamas and towelled off his hair one last time, his thoughts on anything but a comb.

One appeared anyway, which proved the room responded to something besides wishes.

Sighing, Harry snatched it from the air and dragged it through his tangles, more for a way to delay going back than for any other reason. 

But why should he go back at all? The room would give him what he wanted, right?

Wrong. It wouldn't give him pillows and blankets, no matter how hard he wished. 

Harry eyed the marble floor anyway. He'd slept in worse conditions--

That was when he felt the tug on his feet, like his ankles had been caught in a lariat and were being dragged forward. Harry resisted the feeling, only to have it grow more urgent, more violent, until the lariat seemed to be wrapped around his whole body. It was like someone was yanking on the other end--

And then he seemed to _pop_ from one place to another, and he found himself in bed beside Malfoy.

"You never answered right or left, so I pleased myself," said the other man, flicking his wand to extinguish all the lights and pull the curtains closed, plunging them into complete blackness.

Harry struggled in the dark to leave the bed, but it was no use. He was well and truly tethered. 

"If you need to use the loo in the night, wake me," said Malfoy.

"It would serve you right if I stayed right here!"

He felt rather than saw the other man shrug. "Well, the bed _is_ self-cleaning, so on a practical level it wouldn't matter."

_Ewww._

Harry rolled on his side, away from Malfoy, and held himself tensely. It was surprisingly difficult after that shower. All his muscles wanted to relax.

The blankets rustled as Malfoy got up and took his turn in the bathroom. Harry tried to sneak away then, but only got as far as the edge of the bed before the tether snapped taut.

Scowling, Harry scooted all the way to the edge and held himself there.

The mattress shifted again as Malfoy slid back into bed with him. When he spoke, Harry could tell that he'd turned on his side, too. Facing away. "Good-night, Harry. Sleep well."

Harry didn't reply.

The next thing he heard was the sound of soft snores.

Harry tried again to get out of bed again then, but the tether held whether Malfoy was awake or not. Hell, it would probably hold even if Malfoy was unconscious. Not that Harry could render him unconscious. Although, perhaps with the help of a potion . . .

He fell asleep to vague plots involving cupboards where he could brew in secret.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He woke up cradled in Malfoy's arms.

For the space of five seconds, Harry lay still, his mind catching up to his body. Then full awareness galloped through his thoughts and he jerked himself sharply away from Malfoy.

The tether let him, but it didn't let him swing his legs over the edge of the mattress.

"Good morning," said Malfoy from behind him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not a wink," lied Harry without a qualm. "I need my own bedroom. Or at the very least, my own bed. I can't sleep with you so close, not now that I'm not sick any longer--"

"Oh, you slept. All night long, Harry. I woke up several times and spent a good while watching you. You're quite peaceful in sleep, did you know that?"

All right, that was positively creepy. Malfoy had watched him _sleep_? "I still need my own bedroom," Harry said desperately. "You could tether me there, couldn't you? And I don't need all this . . . all this opulence, you know. You must have a garret room somewhere, or a little corner of an attic I could use at night--"

"No."

"But I wouldn't need much space--"

" _No._ I want you here with me."

"Why?"

He knew by then what was coming. "Family honor."

"Like you lot have any!" shouted Harry, jumping up from the bed. Obviously Malfoy had relaxed the tether, but that thought just made Harry all the more angry. 

"We did once," said Malfoy in an icy voice. "And now that I am the scion, we shall again. I am making it my life's work, and I don't particularly care what you think of my methods. I will do what needs to be done, and that is an end to the matter."

"Is that why you freed your elves and filled in your dungeons, because your life's work is to restore your family's lousy reputation?" Harry didn't care if that was hitting below the belt. It was only true, and besides, the Malfoys had sunk so low, supporting Voldemort even after it was clear he was a sadistic madman, they didn't even _have_ belts.

Except for Narcissa, maybe. She'd figured it out and helped Harry in the end. True, her motive had been to save her son; she probably didn't give a flip for the rest of the world. But still, at least she'd resisted Voldemort as the war was ending. 

But then, she wasn't a Malfoy, was she? Not really. She'd been born a Black, like Sirius. 

"Actions such as freeing the elves and eliminating the dungeons are a very small part of my plan." Malfoy's voice was warm again now, like it usually was with Harry. "Now, for breakfast. As you said, you're no longer ill. So from now on, we'll usually take our meals with the family."

"I am not going to--"

"Oh yes, you are. Now, you may either bathe and dress before I take my turn, or you can come in with me and we'll do everything together."

Harry gaped, but wasted no time in snatching up some clean clothes from the wardrobe and slamming the bathroom door.

oOoOoOoOoOo

By the time they'd nearly reached the dining room, Harry felt like the fucking tether really _was_ a leash. Malfoy was practically dragging him down the hall with it, just like Harry was his pet crup!

His temper snapped they turned a corner and passed through a set of double doors standing wide open as if in invitation. What a farce.

"Shall I kneel by your chair and lap water from a bowl?" he snarled, fingers curled into claws. Not that he could _do_ anything with them. He didn't fancy clawing away at an invisible shield that damn it, would probably claw him back!

"What a perfectly extraordinary suggestion," said Narcissa Malfoy in a scandalized tone. "Please do sit down, Harry. In a chair."

She had risen from her own chair when they'd entered, as had Malfoy's father. Both of them were wearing full wizarding robes, just like Malfoy. It seemed a bit much for breakfast, even if they weren't stark black. The men's robes were of a soft dove gray while Mrs. Malfoy's were a shimmering pale blue. 

"I don't think I'm hungry," said Harry stubbornly. 

"Nonsense. You must eat to keep up your strength after the past few weeks you've had. Please, Harry."

Harry didn't know how she did it, but somehow he found himself in a chair, sitting across the table from Malfoy while his mother and father occupied the head and foot. It was a small family table, too, nothing like the ostentatious one he'd seen in his visions of Charity Burbage being tormented and killed. But then, that must have been another dining room as the dimensions of this one were all wrong.

Trust the Malfoys to have more than one dining room!

"I would bid you welcome to our home," said Mr. Malfoy, speaking for the first time, his voice deep, calm, and slow, "but that is Draco's privilege as the scion Malfoy. Therefore I will merely say: Good morning, Harry."

Harry!

All of them were calling him that!

It was beyond surreal, and it jolted Harry out of the shocked silence that little speech had stunned him into. "Don't call me Harry--"

"Ah, but we can hardly call you anything else in the circumstances," murmured Mr. Malfoy.

What was that supposed to mean, that slaves didn't have last names? Harry shuddered. "And for the record, I don't remember any words of welcome from your precious _scion_ ," he snapped. 

Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow as he turned his head to stare at his son. "Really, Draco. That is inexcusable."

Apparently being the scion didn't mean that Malfoy was above being reprimanded. He took it graciously, too, turning to Harry with a bright smile and saying, "My deepest apologies. Your illness distracted me from my duties. Harry Potter, I bid you welcome to Malfoy Manor. May your years here be long and your magic strong."

So apparently slaves did have last names. And they had to be welcomed?

It didn't mean a lot considering the tether and having to share a bed with Malfoy and the slave training he was supposed to start today.

All Harry could think was that the Malfoys were insane, but he'd already known that much.

It was Narcissa Malfoy's turn to nag, but that meant that Harry didn't have to reply, so that was all right. "I do know that Harry is your particular purview, but what _have_ you been doing to him that he would ask that ridiculous question?"

"He doesn't care for the tether, Mother," said Malfoy, sighing.

"Ah. Well, you could at least provide him with clothing suitable for the family dining room--"

"I did." Malfoy swept a napkin off the table and into his lap. Only then did Harry notice that his own napkin was folded to resemble a dragon. "But you know perfectly well that I can't force him to do much unless he's in some sort of danger. I'm afraid that wearing Muggle clothing to breakfast doesn't qualify."

"He'll definitely need a robe after the meal," said Mr. Malfoy, reaching for a newspaper that had just blinked into existence by his left hand. 

"And that will qualify."

Harry had had just about enough. "I know that your son's the _scion_ ," he said, scorn icing the last word as he directed his comments at both Malfoy's parents. "He claims he's out to restore your family honor. Do you really think that invading a wedding and enslaving the groom is the way to go about it?"

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy looked at each other for a long moment, some kind of silent communication seeming to pass between them.

It was Malfoy's father who finally answered. "The decision is entirely Draco's. I have irrevocably entrusted the family to him."

With that, he snapped the newspaper open and proceeded to ignore Harry.

"But--"

"Harry," said Mrs. Malfoy, very softly. "I appreciate that you are frustrated with the situation, but Lucius and I cannot undo what Draco has taken it upon himself to do." She gestured toward the sideboard, where steaming platters of ten kinds of breakfast food had appeared. "Shall I serve you?"

Harry blinked. She wanted to _serve_ him?

"He likes sausages," supplied Malfoy, before turning his attention to Harry. "And what else? Shirred eggs, crepes, bacon, tomato, toasted rye . . ."

Harry didn't even know what shirred eggs were.

Mrs Malfoy rose in a flutter of robes and wafted over to the sideboard where she proceeded to fill a plate. "There you are, Harry."

She was acting so strangely that he expected her to serve her son or husband next, but the moment she sat down, all three of their meals appeared by magic.

"I had the servants prepare a full assortment for you, since I had no idea as to your preferences," said Mrs. Malfoy as she raised the cup that had appeared and began to sip at what appeared to be hot water with a wedge of lemon. Her plate was filled with fruit, with just a tiny slice of buttered toast to one side.

Mr. Malfoy, on the other hand, appeared to be a ham-and-eggs man, though he did have a small side plate dotted with various kinds of hard cheese.

Malfoy was having alphabet soup again, along with a hard, crusty loaf of French bread that came on a wooden platter with a magical knife that smoothly cut a new slice every time Malfoy removed the old one.

"Harry?" asked Mrs. Malfoy, voice lilting with concern. "Is the meal not to your liking? If you would prefer something non-traditional, you have only to tell us."

"I'd prefer not to be here," said Harry bluntly.

Malfoy looked up from his soup. "I think we all know that, Harry. Now, please do eat. You don't want Father to win the duel by default when you faint of hunger, do you?"

"Duel? With your father?"

That got him an amused glance. "Yes. What did you think I meant by training?"

"How can I duel with your father?" asked Harry skeptically. "The minute I cast against him, it'll rebound on me!"

"Oh, I have that solved," said Malfoy airily. "Father, would you pass me the horoscope?"

"Why would you _want_ me to duel him?" 

"To improve your duelling skills, obviously . . . Hmm. Taurus does seem to be a bit of a mess, this morning . . ."

"Why should you want me to have better duelling skills!" shouted Harry, since Malfoy seemed immersed in the horoscope by then.

"Harry," said Mr. Malfoy, snapping his paper down to the table in one sharp motion. "It's very simple. We would prefer you not die, and notwithstanding your ultimate victory, your duel against the Dark Lord hardly inspires confidence. _Expelliarmus_ , really. It won't do. With your history of running into danger, you will need much more than that."

Harry lifted his chin. "I've just had three full years of Auror training."

"Yes." Mr. Malfoy's eyes glinted. "Tell me . . . in those three years of training, how many dark wizards did you face in duels?"

Uh-oh. "Well, strictly speaking none, but--"

"How can you truly be prepared to face such opponents unless you practice?"

"Well, the instructors _did_ use dark spells and we had to be able to shield against them, and--"

"I guarantee," said Mr. Malfoy softly, "that battling a true dark wizard is nothing like facing a Ministry instructor across the length of a classroom."

Harry knew that.

"Eat, Harry," said Malfoy. "Because you _will_ be duelling Father today. I'm quite sure you'd prefer to win."

"If you can," added Mr. Malfoy pleasantly, but with a razor-edge beneath it. 

Harry held his gaze until the other man looked away.

But then, he started eating his breakfast.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"You must merely remember to cast against my doppleganger," said Mr. Malfoy, gesturing to his left where a perfect replica of him stood. The replica gestured to its own left, its mouth moving silently as its master continued speaking. "If you should forget and cast against me, the results will not be pleasant."

He had a gift for understatement, thought Harry resentfully.

"It's unacceptable for Harry to forget," said Malfoy, twining his wand in a series of complicated arcs that seemed to involve both his father and the doppleganger. "There. Now your voice will emerge from the doppleganger."

"A true dark battle is mainly non-verbal," said Mr. Malfoy . . . except that the voice emerged from five feet to his left. "Except when there is advantage to be gained by announcing one's intentions."

That sounded both like instruction and like a warning.

"Are you proficient at non-verbal battle magic?" the doppleganger asked Harry.

Harry had to struggle to answer Mr. Malfoy instead of talking to his magical twin. "Why would I answer that when I would just be handing you weapons?"

"I suppose I will know soon enough," murmured the doppleganger. "Draco?"

Malfoy understood what his father was asking. "I didn't argue with you earlier, Harry, but now you do need to wear a proper robe."

"I can move around better in clothes like these."

"A robe helps to hide the shape of your body, rendering many curses less effective--"

"And it can also help to deflect any spells that are aimed less than true," finished the doppleganger in Mr. Malfoy's aristocratic tones.

"Did you learn any of this in Auror training?" asked Malfoy. 

Harry would have taken offense at a question like that if he'd heard even a hint of condescension. But he didn't. Malfoy sounded genuinely interested.

What _was_ all this, some sort of long-term plot to ferret out weaknesses in the Auror corps? Weaknesses that could be exploited?

The problem with that theory was that it didn't match the idea that Malfoy had got rid of his dungeons and elves. All that could have been a lie, of course . . . but it was true that there didn't seem to be any elves about. 

"Yes," he said. "I do know about robes." He also knew himself, and the fact that he could perform evasive maneuvers much better when he didn't have fabric flowing around him as he moved. Not that he was going to admit that out loud. It would only give Mr. Malfoy an advantage.

"Then why are you trying to refuse one?" asked Malfoy.

"None of your fucking business."

"Is the profanity necessary?" asked the doppleganger.

"Yes, it fucking well is, and I'd fucking like to see you fucking try to stop me, you shit-faced fucker," answered Harry.

The doppleganger sighed and gave Malfoy a speaking look. So did Mr. Malfoy, of course.

" _Accio_ dueling robe," said Malfoy, flicking his wand, ignoring the silent reprimand. Though Harry didn't know what Mr. Malfoy expected his son to do about Harry's profanity. It wasn't a life- or health-threatening issue, so if Harry wanted to swear, what could Malfoy do about it?

_He could hex you or use some of those other universes of magic he mentioned_ , Harry's conscience chimed in. _He could do all sorts of things and with that shield protecting him, you couldn't fight back._

"Here you are," announced Malfoy. "Put it on."

"How do I know that one's not soaked in poison designed to make me lose to your father, or worse?"

Malfoy tapped his wand against the side of his leg. "Father, do exchange robes with Harry, would you?"

Mr. Malfoy moved to comply, doffing his robe and extending it to Harry, one eyebrow raised.

"How do I know--"

"I thought Gryffindor was the house of bravery, not rampant paranoia," drawled Malfoy. "You may have your choice of robes, Harry. Father's, mine, this one, or one of your own. You know I did fetch them from your house. The ones you had weren't proper dueling robes, and are most likely too worn to deflect well, but if you insist--"

"Oh, shut up, you pretentious git." Harry grabbed the dark blue robe Malfoy had summoned and slammed his arms into the sleeves so he could yank it on.

Mr. Malfoy and the doppleganger both put on their grey robes again.

"What are the rules for the duel?" asked Harry, legs apart, wand at the ready.

"I see we do have a lot of work to do," said the doppleganger. "A true dark wizard will announce rules only for the purpose of confounding you, Harry. He will not bother to comply with them, himself."

"The same for bowing and all that, I assume?"

"Of course."

That explained Malfoy casting at him during the count during their duel years ago, thought Harry sourly. Though Voldemort had insisted on the formalities that time in the cemetery . . . but then, he supposed that Mr. Malfoy hadn't been referring to insane dark wizards.

Assuming there was any other kind.

"Remember to cast at the doppleganger," said Malfoy. "Father, please stand twenty paces distant. I'll cast the charm that will allow you to hear as though you were in the proper place."

"Do," said the doppleganger.

Strangely, it stayed in place while Mr. Malfoy moved off to the side. 

And then, without the slightest warning that they were beginning, it raised its wand and sent a curse flying towards Harry.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry dove to the side and raised a shield. Before the next curse came flying his way, he raised a second one behind it, mentally chanting a spell that would bind the two together.

The doubled shield managed to deflect the next four curses the doppleganger flung at him. Unknown curses, as the entire battle was being conducted in silence save for Harry's panting as he spun and ducked.

Dueling a doppleganger was surreal. Harry knew the spells were coming from Mr. Malfoy, but some force of magic was transferring them into the doppleganger, which held an illusory wand that couldn't actually cast a thing. That didn't matter, though. All the curses and hexes appeared to come from the magical twin.

Harry tried not to look to the side where he knew Mr. Malfoy was moving in a bizarre dance with no partner. He knew the sight would disorient him.

His shield began to sizzle as the curses raining down on it increased in strength. Harry tried to raise a third to bind to the first two. A doubled shield was ten times stronger than a single, but a tripled shield was fifty times as strong.

No use, though. He'd never yet been able to bind three full shields together, so he did what he could, adding a layer over his most vulnerable area, heart and lungs, so the shield was tripled in at least that one location.

By the time that was done, a curse was curling around the edges of his shield. It set his robes on fire the moment it touched them, and the conflagration quickly rose, a vertical arc that swallowed him in flames.

_Finite!_ thought Harry, but of course Mr. Malfoy was hardly likely to use a spell that could be countered so easily. Now that the spell had struck, Harry could identify it, or at least the family it came from, which helped him pick the correct counter. _Aquastrella!_ he thought, putting all his power into the non-verbal incantation.

A series of stars appeared over his head, each one exploding to shower spectral water down upon the flames.

They whimpered like a kicked puppy and sank out of existence.

_Incarcerous!_ thought Harry, flinging his arm out so violently that his elbow almost popped.

The spell streaked across the distance separating him from the doppleganger, and for the space of half a second, the chains flung out by magic wrapped themselves around the doppleganger and pulled tight.

Harry couldn't help himself, then. He glanced to the side, because he had to know the truth. When Malfoy had explained the doppleganger, he had sworn that anything affecting it would affect his father as well. It had to be that way, or Harry couldn't possibly win this duel. The doppleganger couldn't actually be hurt; it was just a phantom.

So Harry glanced to the side to check, and for a brief glimmer of an instant he saw chains wrapped around Mr. Malfoy as well.

An instant later the chains exploded outward with the force of a _Libero_ counter, a spell few wizards could do because it required both a powerful reserve of magic and long years' close acquaintance with practicing the Dark Arts.

The chains came flying at him, every link severed, but if they struck they would form anew, stronger than before.

And Harry couldn't cast _Libero_.

He ducked and rolled, then darted several yards so the spell flew past him and crashed into a tree, which promptly screamed in outrage. 

Damned Malfoy magical garden--

On and on it went. Curse, countercurse. Curse, shield, Lucius moving like a man only five years older than Harry instead of one more than twice his age. Three times Harry had cause to be grateful for the robes. Five times he had cause to wish them gone. 

Spells whizzed past him; spells collided with him. Curses cartwheeled through the air and rained down upon his head until he shielded the air above him.

Above all, the duel was silent. Stealthy, like a movie with the sound turned off.

By the time it ended, Harry was exhausted, his legs aching from all the running and ducking and jumping he'd had to do to evade the curses he couldn't shield against. His wrist felt like it had been twisted off and reattached. Even his brain hurt, because Harry had never, ever had to think so fast for so long just to keep his head above water in a battle.

None of that, however, was the reason why the duel ended the way it did.

Harry had just stood up from a crouch when it happened.

" _Sectumsempra!_ " roared the doppleganger out loud, the curse streaking fast and furious toward Harry.

Shocked, Harry didn't react fast enough. Malfoy's father must know, he must have been told how seriously Harry had injured his son, and this was his revenge, wasn't it, and he'd worn Harry down first, worn him down so savagely that his shields were in tatters, his every muscle and tendon screaming with pain--

Harry flung himself to the side.

A moment too late.

The cutting curse struck home, slicing through robe and shirt and trousers to flay Harry alive.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Finally, _finally_ , Harry was able to wake up without it being obvious he'd done so. He lay still and quiet, ignoring the dull ache that wanted to swallow him whole, ignoring even the odd sensation traveling in streaks across his belly and thighs. It felt like a series of sharp pinpricks, like someone was stabbing him with the point of a needle, drawing lines by making dot-dot-dots in rapid succession.

Lying still through it was something akin to torture, but Harry did it because when he'd first come to awareness, Malfoy had been speaking. And Harry wanted to listen, damn it. He wanted any information he could get about the insanity that seemed to reign supreme in Malfoy Manor these days.

"Of course not. I explained that."

"But Draco, darling, I really do think it would be better if you did--"

So Malfoy was talking to his mother.

"I revisit the matter every day," said Malfoy in a weary tone, "and I see no hope for any course except the one I already follow."

"But you said that new paths are opening up all the time, that there is more than one way forward--"

"The others lead into a wilderness of despair just now. This is the only way, and don't ask me why again. If I knew that, I'd feel better about it, myself."

"Your mother and I do not question your judgement, Draco--"

So Lucius Malfoy was there as well . . .

"Really? Because that's what it sounds like!"

"But having decided to undertake this . . . do you not suppose that he should at least know?"

"He _can't_ know," said Malfoy, sounding like he'd drop of exhaustion, by then. "I told you. It skews the path!"

"But this unorthodox way of proceeding, Draco," said Mrs. Malfoy, almost pleading. "It is not how such things are done. It is _never_ how such things have been done."

"If I had an alternative I would take it." Something rustled, maybe clothing. Malfoy's voice came from higher up when he continued. "I respect you both, and I do indeed take your counsel to heart, but I am the scion Malfoy. The matter is settled."

"Yes, my darling," said Mrs. Malfoy in a faint voice.

What her husband might have said to Malfoy's arrogant statement -- arrogant even if true -- Harry never got to find out. 

"He's awake," said Malfoy in a sharp tone. Suddenly his voice was at Harry's level and close beside his cheek. "Harry, listen to me. Your wounds have been healed but the new flesh across them in fragile, so move slowly or not at all for the first few hours. You will be entirely well again by evening. Harry?"

He thought about feigning unconsciousness for longer, but there wasn't much point. If Malfoy even suspected Harry was listening, he wouldn't say anything revealing. Not that he'd said much. Just that his parents didn't really approve of all this no matter how they'd acted at breakfast and that there was something they thought he should tell Harry . . .

Harry would have to think about it. If he could. The words were already blurring in his memory, like the aches in his bones and muscles were rubbing them out of his mind.

He opened his eyes and saw Malfoy right beside him, gazing at him with steady gray eyes. 

"Did you hear me? Don't make any hasty moves. You could re-open the wounds."

"I heard you." Harry wished the words didn't sound so much like croaks. "I . . . pinpricks."

"That's the healing magic I used. You didn't even lose much blood, but until your new flesh knits completely to the old, it will feel . . . prickly."

Harry thought the sensation might be better if he moved a little, but he went slowly, as Malfoy had said, gradually levering himself up. Mrs. Malfoy rushed forward, transfiguring pillows from the air as she went and sending them wafting to pile up behind him so he had something to soft yet supportive to lean against. Harry smiled at her gratefully, remembered that he shouldn't a moment later, and scowled. 

But maybe it wasn't so bad to smile at her, if she didn't like what her son was doing.

"You know the chant?" he asked Malfoy when he'd settled fully against the pillows. 

"Chant?"

Harry breathed in too deeply and winced. God, did he ache all over. "Snape's chant. For _Sectumsempra_."

"Oh. No. But I have access to other healing magic."

And just why had Harry needed _any_ healing magic? "You said that nobody here would attack me!"

"A duel undertaken for the purpose of improving your battle skills is not an attack," said Mr. Malfoy, moving to stand beside his son, who was kneeling beside the . . . huh. Not bed. Harry was on some sort of sofa, in a breezy room that seemed to be half-outdoors, with glass doors and windows standing open to the garden.

Harry clenched his fists, but that only made the needle pricks seem to poke him harder and faster. "And it was just a coincidence that you used _Sectumsempra_ , I suppose? Right!"

"No, that was quite deliberate--"

"I bet it was!" shouted Harry. "You're a bunch of liars, all of you! Spouting off fake welcomes and good mornings when the plan all along was to _Sectumsempra_ me to get even for me doing it to your son, who was about to _Crucio_ me at the time, by the way! But you probably approve of that, don't you, seeing as you hate me--"

"Nobody here hates you," said Mr. Malfoy sternly. 

"Of course you do! But just to set the fucking record straight, I didn't mean to hurt your son so badly that time, all right? I didn't know what _Sectumsempra_ was or what it would do, or--"

"I do not hate you, Harry," repeated Mr. Malfoy. "I have in the past, yes. I admit that. But no longer."

Harry felt like his brain was going to explode. "Then why did you _Sectumsempra_ me, eh? Eh? _Eh?_ "

"To gather information about your battle weaknesses. I rather hoped it wouldn't be one, actually."

" _What?_ "

Mr. Malfoy sighed. "And now I can see how Draco allowed himself to become distracted enough in your presence to ignore the formalities, for I have done it myself." His voice became brisk. "That was a training duel only, with no enmity guiding it, and in this house we hold to the old traditions concerning such. As the victor, it falls to me to carry them out. Harry Potter: may your years be long and your magic strong. I do hereby beseech your pardon for the injuries and indignities you have sustained."

Harry just stared at him, a single thought bouncing around in his head: these people were so far gone that there wasn't even any point in asking what the fuck they were talking about.

"All Father means is that he didn't hurt you for the sake of it, but to help you in your future battles," said Malfoy. "He's beseeched my pardon that way at least a hundred times. Training duels aren't supposed to lead to hard feelings--"

"Yeah, well this one _has_ ," announced Harry, wincing as he crossed his arms too fast. 

A weird expression crossed Malfoy's face, and when Harry looked, he saw it echoed on the faces of both his parents. What did it mean, the turned down lips, the eyes slightly cast down. Not what it seemed, surely. Not . . . dismay.

"If you were going to feel that way," said Malfoy stiffly, "you should have refused to duel at all."

"When was I supposed to do that, when your fucking doppleganger was cursing me to ribbons?"

"No, before that. I have admitted, have I not, that I can't force you to do much."

"Yeah, well you also said you'd use whole universes of other magic to make me obey you!"

"Draco," gasped Mrs. Malfoy. "You _threatened_ Harry?"

"He's more difficult to deal with than I expected!"

"That makes no difference--"

"I wasn't going to do anything to him," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted him to have a reason to take me seriously."

"Neither your mother nor I care a whit about your excuses," said Mr. Malfoy in a voice that sent a chill across the whole room, bright and sunny as it was. "And this is not a situation in which your being the scion can make a difference. You will apologize to Harry. _At once._ "

All right, it was official. Harry had died and gone to some sort of alternate universe where Lucius Malfoy actually tried to be a decent human being.

Malfoy hesitated before turning back to Harry with a rueful smile. "Father is quite correct that I should apologize. Threatening you was inexcusable, like forgetting the formal welcome. It won't happen again."

Harry bared his teeth, not believing a word. 

Malfoy sighed and rose to his feet. "I suppose I can't fault you in this case. I have put you rather at a disadvantage."

_Rather at a disadvantage._ The gift of understatement ran in families, apparently!

"But I won't be forcing you to serve me, or work at all, for that matter. I merely . . . I need you here."

God only knew why . . . If he asked, though, he'd only get the standard answer:

Family honor.

"Then why make me duel your father?"

"You could have refused," said Malfoy again. "Though I had reasons for not making that clear. You see . . ." He stared off into space for a long moment, then gave a little shake of his head as if to clear cobwebs from his thoughts. His gray eyes were solemn when he looked at Harry again. "You will work as an Auror again someday. I know you will. Father was only speaking the truth earlier, when he said we'd all prefer that you not die. We can help prevent that, Harry, by giving you the kind of battle training you won't get from the Ministry. They won't employ dark wizards to help you, or allow you to face the kind of spells you must be able to defeat, if you're to survive the profession you've chosen."

Harry's mouth went dry. He wanted to assume that all that was a pack of lies, the way he assumed most of Malfoy's words were. But there was something about them that gave him pause.

Unbelievable as they seemed.

"I won't work as an Auror, ever," he said, shaking his head. "They've sacked me by now--"

"No, they haven't. Technically, you're still on holiday."

"Holiday!"

"Your honeymoon," murmured Mrs. Malfoy.

Right, he was supposed to be on his honeymoon. Harry wasn't sure how he could have forgotten that. 

Malfoy glanced up, his nostrils flaring with what looked like annoyance, though Harry wasn't sure why the word "honeymoon" would set him off. "If I need assistance with any further healing Harry might require, I'll be certain to summon you," he said.

That was about the most urbane way to say _get out_ that Harry had ever heard.

"Be well, Harry," said Mrs. Malfoy. She came forward and stroked a hand over his hair, brushing it back a bit from his forehead, and then she seemed to waft away on an air current, so light and floating were her steps.

"When you are stronger I would like to discuss your battle weaknesses and how they can be remedied," said Malfoy's father.

Thankfully, he didn't try any affectionate little touches as he left. Harry would probably have screamed bloody murder and thrown himself off the couch, opening up all his wounds.

Mr. Malfoy did, however, give his son a stern glance. "You are the family scion, yes. _Act like it._ "

He Apparated away, leaving the words lingering on the air.

"Parents," said Malfoy in a tone that was both amused and heavy. "You know how is it--"

"No, I don't."

Once, the reminder would have led to a series of jeers from Malfoy. Now, he merely pursed his lips. "Right. Well, that can't be helped. And I suppose you can't be blamed for not trusting any of us, particularly after Father went so far in your first duel. But we're quite concerned that you have the skills to survive the career you've chosen--"

"My career's over," said Harry dully. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but even a honeymoon only lasts so long, and when I've used all the time they alloted me--"

"You'll ask for additional leave," finished Malfoy. "And they'll grant it."

"I haven't been working long enough for them to--"

"You're Harry Potter. They'll grant it."

Probably true. But even his name wouldn't let him skive off work forever. "Sooner or later they'll have to sack me. Unless you're planning to let me go back in just a few more weeks."

"I don't know the timeline. I _do_ know that you'll work as an Auror again."

"Oh, how can you know a thing like that?"

Malfoy stared into space again, going perfectly still, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. He looked like he was trying to see through walls, though that was rather pointless when most of the ones in this garden room were made of glass.

Unlike the other times when Malfoy had spaced out, this one went on so long that Harry started tapping his fingers with impatience. What was Malfoy _doing_? And could it have anything to do with what his parents had been going on about when Harry first woke up? What did they say, exactly? That it would be better if Malfoy did something, and that Harry should at least know . . . 

Know what, though?

"Malfoy," he said loudly, to get the other man's attention. "What is it that your parents want you to tell me?"

Malfoy suddenly blinked. "What? Oh. Hmm. It's all right to let you know, now. I think it is, anyway. I'm a Seer."

Harry scoffed. "You can't be. Dark wizards never have the power of Sight--"

"Why do you think I didn't duel you myself?" Malfoy tapped his wand against the side of his leg several times. "It had to be Father, because I can't use violent or hurtful spells any longer, not without interfering with the Sight. But why would I interfere with it? It's my greatest magical gift, and it feeds on what it considers to be worthy deeds. That's why I freed the elves. That's why I filled in the dungeons."

"That would make a lot more sense if you hadn't decided you had to have a _slave_ ," snarled Harry. "What sort of a worthy deed is that?"

"What I did was unavoidable," said Malfoy shortly. "I'm sorry you can't understand that, but there it is. I had to prevent your marriage. It was going to send fate spinning down a path leading to destruction. And for no good reason, either. The marriage wasn't going to work out."

"You can't know that--"

"But that's just the point," said Malfoy, kneeling down again, right alongside Harry, no matter that Harry was shaking with rage and likely to strike out at him, strangle him if he could. Which he couldn't. "I _can_ know that, Harry. I do know that. I meant what I said in my letters. She doesn't love you."

Harry felt like the _Sectumsempra_ was ripping him open again. "She does--"

"No, she doesn't. And I'm sorry, because if she did . . . but she doesn't, Harry."

Harry clenched his eyes and managed to get himself under control. He wasn't going to show any more of what he was feeling, not if he could help it. "What did you mean by a 'path leading to destruction?'"

"I can't explain that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why, because I'm not a Seer?"

"No, because the paths I see spinning out from here lead to nowhere good if I tell you too much right now. It's not time. I couldn't even tell you I was a Seer until the path stopped skewing."

"You know you're barking mad, don't you?" Harry blew out a breath. "Ginny does love me, and your train-Harry-to-duel plan is just as wrongheaded. Your fucking father could have killed me! And that won't do my Auror career any good, will it?"

"He could not have killed you," said Malfoy as he pulled a scroll from a trouser pocket. " _Voilà._ "

Harry unrolled the scroll too fast and had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound of distress. Damn, though. The pinpricks still racing along his abdomen had turned into something more like dagger stabs for an instant.

The parchment contained a list of spells, each paired with either a countercurse or a note on healing, sometimes with a potion, sometimes with a ritual spell. Spell after spell after spell . . . Harry recognized some of the names; others he could translate, more-or-less.

What they all had in common was that they matched the spells used in the duel, as far as Harry could tell. With non-verbal magic, he couldn't be sure. But the spells that had struck him, that he'd had to counterspell himself . . . all of them were on the list.

Next to _Sectumsempra_ was written: _Immobilize and render unconscious. Conjured dove feathers and oil of clove mixed just before applying with _Vendaliamo_ potion, then trace gashes with burning tip of a wand never used to wound. Dittany at ten minute intervals for an hour to prevent scarring. Should wake up before two hours elapse but warn to move slowly for rest of day._

"So you see, you were never in any true danger from Father."

"You knew he was going to use _Sectumsempra_?" spat Harry. "You sick fuck! I would never, ever have used it on you if I'd had any idea what it did!"

"I'd rather he curse you until you can defend against it than he go easy on you, and in a real duel someday, you _die_ , yes!"

"You could have at least warned me!"

"Is that what the dark wizards you'll battle for a living will do, _warn_ you?"

Harry's head started hurting from too much thinking. "How can I believe you'll ever let me work as an Auror again? Why would you?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me--"

"Oh, shut up with the fucking Seer-speak!"

"That wasn't," said Malfoy in an amused tone as he rose to his feet. "That was just from knowing you, Harry. I'm sorry that all of this is so difficult for you. I'm doing what I can to make things easy and pleasant--"

"Oh. My. God. Now he's claiming that _Sectumsempra_ is easy and pleasant!" Harry rolled his eyes, wondering if there _was_ a God, and if not, who he was talking to.

"I thought you'd be happier with something to do," retorted Malfoy, "and improving your battle skills seemed like a useful pursuit. Pardon me if I was in error. The next time Father offers you a duel, if you don't care to battle him, tell him no. And I won't do anything about it except lecture you that Aurors who want to live would do better not to reject any training offered."

"When am I going to get the chance to be an Auror again?" asked Harry in a heavy tone. 

He meant the question sarcastically, meant to convey that Malfoy was being stupid, expecting Harry to think even for a minute that that was true.

But Malfoy took his words at face value and gave a little shrug. "I don't know when. I think I'll recognize the path splitting when it happens, though. That's all I can say for now. And if you don't want to use this time away from it to prepare yourself better, that's up to you. Not very Slytherin of you, I must say. Which is, I suppose, understandable."

Harry stared at him, some strange impulse making him want to blurt out that he'd been offered Slytherin.

"Something light for lunch is in order," announced Malfoy. "Perhaps a cheese tray and a salad dressed with a simple vinaigrette? But you can have chips and sausages again if you'd prefer. Hmm?"

"Whatever," sighed Harry, sinking down further into the cushions Mrs. Malfoy had provided. 

"Yes, good. Have a rest and when you're ready, we'll eat."

Harry closed his eyes, worn out by the constant pinpricks racing along his skin. He wouldn't ask for a potion or a numbing spell, he _wouldn't_.

Besides . . . if there was anything that could help him, he thought Malfoy would have provided it already.

Strange thought. Very strange.

But maybe, just maybe . . . true.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry swayed on his feet a little that evening as he was walking to the dining room, but he thought that was due more to expecting every step to hurt than to any real pain. It seemed unbelievable that he could be completely well already, but it was true. He wasn't even scarred.

"Did Snape's chant heal you as quickly as this?" he had to ask.

Malfoy shook his head. "No, but perhaps that's why he chose it. A way to delay my efforts to fulfill my task."

"But--" A lot of information had come to light in the wake of the war, and a lot more during the Death Eater trials that had followed. "If he did that, he'd have been breaking the vow he made, the one to help you."

"Not really." Malfoy shrugged. "No doubt Snape didn't have a wand on him that had never been used to wound. Seeking one out would have taken long enough that I'd have died in the meantime -- he used the only cure available."

_A wand never used to wound . . ._ Harry remembered the words from the healing notes Malfoy had shown him, but only now did their true meaning sink in. No wonder Malfoy had had more than one wand. But now that he'd given the hawthorn wand to Harry, did that mean he couldn't cast anything hurtful at all?

But that was stupid. He had Harry's holly wand, and for all Harry knew, the slavery spell he'd used would count as "mastering" it.

Which reminded Harry.

"Why does the hawthorn wand work so well for me even though I'm not its master any longer?"

"You used it to defeat a powerful Dark Lord. Granted, I'm no expert on wandlore, but I do know that's not the sort of thing a wand completely forgets."

"Oh yes, _Expelliarmus_ is so very impressive, as your father pointed out--"

"Don't let his pretensions fool you," murmured Malfoy as they walked along. " _Expelliarmus_ got the job done. That's more important to a Slytherin than the complexity of the casting. But you might consider that he found it rather humiliating to have learned not only that he'd made a terrible mistake following the Dark Lord to begin with, but also that he could do nothing to free himself. And then, to be set free by a seventeen year-old half-blood? His pride took a beating that day, Harry."

"Which explains why he'd want to rip my guts out and scatter them all over your magical lawn--"

" _No._ It explains why he'd want to prove to you that he has something to teach you, if you'd only unbend your own pride enough to learn."

Harry frowned. "It's not pride--"

"Then what? Cowardice?"

"Yeah, it's cowardice not to want to my belly shredded," drawled Harry. 

"He won't cast _Sectumsempra_ again until you've practiced blocking it," said Malfoy impatiently. "When are you going to understand? He was just testing you so he'd know--"

"My weaknesses, yeah. Got it."

"So he can help you correct them!"

By then they were at the dining room. Both of the elder Malfoys were already there. 

Malfoy waited until Harry had sat down in the place he'd occupied that morning before taking the seat opposite. Unlike at breakfast, the moment Malfoy had pulled his napkin into his lap, food appeared for all four of them. Well, maybe dinner worked that way for the scion.

"Shouldn't you sit at the head of the table if you're head of the family?" blurted Harry without thinking.

Malfoy gave him a quizzical look, like he was wondering how Muggle families did things. "Father is still my elder."

Whatever. 

"Are you quite well again, Harry?" asked Narcissa Malfoy, a soft and gentle smile directed at him.

Harry wished she wouldn't be so . . . so _motherly_. It made it harder to stay angry.

"Yeah." He looked doubtfully at the potato on his plate. It seemed like somebody had confused it with a cake, since the insides had been scooped out, creamed up, and redistributed like icing or something. 

"Duchess potatoes," explained Malfoy, sampling a bite and obviously approving. "You can taste the fresh cream."

Harry could, once he tried them. "What, no alphabet soup?" he jeered.

"Not tonight."

"Perhaps we could discuss your battle techniques," said Mr. Malfoy, speaking for the first time that evening.

"Lucius. Not over dinner."

Mr. Malfoy gave a small, deferential shrug as he continued to look at Harry. "Later this evening, then?"

Harry didn't reply.

"Or are you convinced I have no useful knowledge to impart?"

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't be convinced of that, not when he'd lost the duel. Even before _Sectumsempra_ , he'd had trouble keeping his head above water. Malfoy just knew too many dark spells, and too many nasty variations of ones Harry could usually defend against without any trouble. 

Auror training had been intensive, but when it came to fighting real dark wizards . . . it had barely scratched the surface.

Harry hated the fact that the Malfoys had been right about that.

"We can discuss my battle techniques," he said finally. "That's discuss, not duel."

"Oh, Harry," said Mrs. Malfoy, her soft eyes almost glowing. "Nobody here would want you to duel again until you're ready."

"I don't see why not," he muttered, stabbing his fork into a perfectly broiled steak. The gesture was less than satisfying. The meat simply _gave_ under the pressure, like room-temperature butter. Worse, when he lifted a bite to his mouth, it melted in his mouth.

"We care what happens to you," said Malfoy quietly. "Think of it as . . . a consequence of the spell."

"A dead slave being less useful than no slave at all," spat Harry. Bits of meat flew from his mouth, but that was fine by him. He didn't have their fancy manners, and he wasn't going to pretend he did.

"Oh, Harry." This time, Mrs. Malfoy merely sounded sad. "That's not at all what Draco meant."

"What did he mean, then?"

The reaction to that question, Harry thought, gave new meaning to the phrase _pregnant pause_. Malfoy's parents stared at him like they were urging him to say something; he stared back blandly, first at his mother and then at his father. Then he snapped his fingers three times in succession and announced a desire for alphabet soup, after all.

It appeared instantly, but he made no move to eat it.

Instead, he looked over the top of it at his parents again, his eyes shining with some emotion Harry couldn't name, for all it looked arrogant as hell. 

"What did you mean, Malfoy?" Harry asked again. "You care what happens to me, or so you say. Why would you? Why would you care at all?"

Another pregnant pause, another long glance among the Malfoys.

Mr. Malfoy threw his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. "I've had quite enough of this. You are not the only one in this family, Draco, nor the only one involved. Either you tell him, or I _will_."

"It's not your place; you're not the scion--"

"Draco, please," begged Mrs. Malfoy. "I can't bear this."

"You haven't Seen the path!"

"I have seen," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, "very little that I can approve since Harry joined us. It may not be my place to speak, but you must believe me: _I will speak._."

Malfoy blanched and turned away, his fists clenching. He stared off into the distance for what seemed like forever, his eyes glowing -- at least until he shut them tightly, his face contracting like he was in pain. Harry wondered if this was his attempt to See, and if so, if it always hurt him.

Not that he really believed Malfoy could See much of anything.

"Very well, then," announced Mr. Malfoy. "Harry, it falls to me to inform you--"

"No!" yelped Malfoy, coming abruptly out of his trance. 

Mr. Malfoy made a sarcastic gesture as if to tell his son to get on with it.

To Harry's surprise, he did. 

"That wasn't--" Malfoy turned his head away, the muscles in his neck distending as he swallowed. "This is difficult. I don't like to step from the path. But that path's been skewed now and it's almost gone, and . . ." He swallowed again. "The truth, then. I was going to tell you, I was. But . . . ah . . . that wasn't a slavery spell I cast, Harry. It was . . . you're not my slave."

Harry narrowed his eyes. What sort of trick was this? He _knew_ he was a slave. He couldn't attack Malfoy, he was magically tethered to him-- and yet Malfoy now claimed he wasn't a slave, and his parents' behavior certainly cast it into doubt . . .

Harry cleared his throat, almost afraid to ask, in case the answer was something more terrible than he could imagine. "What am I, then?"

Malfoy bit his lip.

"Draco," said Mr. Malfoy in a warning tone.

Malfoy looked at him, then. "You're . . . you're one of us now, Harry. You're . . . well, you're a Malfoy."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry didn't know how the Malfoys thought he'd react to such a bizarre pronouncement.

The truth was, he didn't know how to react. He wasn't even sure he'd heard correctly. "Come again?"

"You're a Malfoy," repeated Malfoy, proving that Harry hadn't been hearing things. 

"Oh, the hell I am! You called me Harry Potter in that asinine formal welcome you finally issued!"

Malfoy looked like he was hiding a smile. "Your name's the same, of course. But just as Narcissa Malfoy is also a Black, you, Harry Potter, are now also a Malfoy." He made a slight gesture. "Why don't you sit down so we can discuss it?"

Harry didn't see why they couldn't discuss it with him standing up. He also didn't remember standing up, which told him he was more shocked that he'd realized. He sat down with a thud, shoved his plate away, and glared balefully across the table at Malfoy. "How is that even possible?"

"Adoption magic." 

"Adoption magic," repeated Harry.

"Exactly. That wasn't a slavery spell you consented to; it was an adoption ritual."

"Then why did you say I'd be bound to you?"

"Because you are. The same way they are," Malfoy said, gesturing toward his parents, who were watching the conversation as if this were some sort of . . . oh, God. Family conference. 

"Your parents are _bound_ to you?"

"Only in the sense that they're Malfoys, and I am the scion Malfoy. They look to me to guide the family fortunes."

Like Harry cared about those! "Is this . . . adoption irrevocable, like you said?"

"Yes. Completely."

Malfoy looked around the table and must have deduced that nobody had an appetite any longer. He drew some sort of rune on the table then, and all the food and dinnerware vanished, leaving nothing but a highly polished ebony surface.

That was just as well. Harry felt like throwing something, and since it would only rebound on him -- which reminded him. "Is an adoption spell the only thing you cast on me?"

When Malfoy nodded, Harry felt his rage crest to new heights. "Why is there a tether, then! Why is there a shield protecting you from me!"

He was a little taken aback when Malfoy winced. "Well . . . it's because I cast the version of the spell designed for the adoption of . . . small children."

"Children!" For one second his mind went blank, and then an image rushed in that he thought might kill him. "Oh, God. No-- the spell made you, in some sort of twisted magical way . . . my _father_?"

"No, of course not!" snapped Malfoy, obviously offended. "You're as near to my own age as makes no difference, so how could I be your father?"

"The same way I could be a Malfoy!" shouted Harry.

"I used the child adoption ritual because it would by its nature place certain limits on you, but you are in fact an adult. That _always_ means that you are taken into the family on the same generational level as the current scion."

"Wow, Malfoy," said Harry. "That was _almost_ as clear as mud!"

"The two of you are brothers," interrupted Lucius Malfoy. 

Harry ignored that. He had to. The limits Malfoy had mentioned were what really mattered. "The tether is to keep an adopted child from running away?"

Malfoy nodded, his fingers drumming on the table until he seemed to realize he was doing it. "In the old days, adoptions were often used to settle blood feuds. There was a presumption that an adopted child might strongly object to joining an enemy family. Hence the tether, to be exercised at the scion's discretion until the child had adjusted."

"Hence the whole shield thing," muttered Harry.

"Oh, yes. Adoptions were violent, bloody affairs until such shields were incorporated into the base spell."

"I bet they were!" Harry narrowed his gaze. "You made me consent. If children in the past were so resistant to the idea of being adopted, wouldn't they have withheld their consent? Or were they always tricked, like I was?"

"Child adoption only required the consent of the families," said Malfoy, sounding by then like he was tired of explaining. "In your case consent was needed because you're not a child. But after you consented I cast the version of the spell intended for children."

"I didn't agree to be adopted!"

"The spell doesn't care. Of your own volition, you wrapped it about your wrists. That means you accepted it."

"I didn't know what the fuck it was! I would never-- I would _never_ \--" 

"Harry," said Mrs. Malfoy, very softly. "Surely being a son in this house is far better than being a slave."

_A son._ Harry couldn't help but shiver. The word 'son' raised heebie-jeebies all over his skin, probably because he'd never been that to anyone, and he was too old to learn now. 

And then she had to go and make things worse. "Lucius and I always did want another son, Harry, but not even magic could make it possible . . . until now."

"I'm sure you didn't want _me_ ," said Harry dryly, before turning back to Malfoy. "Fine then, so I'm not a slave. That works for me, even if I don't appreciate what you did or the way you did it. But now that I know the truth, you can release the tether."

Harry wasn't too happy when his statement was met with another pregnant pause.

"I can't do that," said Malfoy.

"Yes, you can. You're the scion, it's up to you--"

"I can't do it because you'll run away."

"Look, Malfoy," said Harry sternly. "I can't possibly _run away_ , seeing that I don't belong here in the first place."

"But you do belong here. You're a Malfoy."

"You think either one of your parents really want me here?"

"Of course we want you here, Harry," said Narcissa softly. "You're family."

"How can I be, with everything that's happened in the past--"

"Weren't you listening?" asked Malfoy. "It was usually enemy children who were adopted, anyway. It's part of pureblood culture to fully accept those children into the family. Nobody here cares that we were on different sides in the war. You're family now."

"But that's just-- it's like a fantasy or something. It can't be real--"

"It is quite literally real," corrected Mr. Malfoy, his gaze on Harry cool, but nowhere near glacial. "More than that, it is based on blood. The adoption ritual placed Malfoy blood in your veins and Malfoy marrow in your bones."

"It did not!"

"But it did, Harry," said Malfoy earnestly. "That's why you got so sick right away and needed the potion. It helped your body adjust to the change. It would have helped more if you'd got the right amount."

"I don't have Malfoy blood in me!" shouted Harry. "I'm proud of my Mum! I'm still a half-blood!"

"Of course you are," said Narcissa in a soothing voice. "Of _course_ you are, Harry. But you're one of us too, now."

Something snapped together in Harry's mind. "You had the potion ready," he accused. "You had it planned all along that you were going to adopt someone! You never intended for a second to enslave _anybody_!"

As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy's silence meant that Harry had got it right.

"You _tricked_ me!" screamed Harry. "You threatened Ginny just to make me stand in for her! You said those horrible things so I'd have no choice but to save her!"

"I said them so you'd have to come here," admitted Malfoy, leaning forward over the table. "I didn't have any choice, Harry. Your wedding was going to end wizarding civilization as we know it, and I can't explain more than that right now without ending it myself, but I swear to you, _I had to bring you here, any way I could._ "

"If this fucking shield wouldn't hurt me instead," snarled Harry, "I'd punch your fucking nose in so hard the bones would puncture your brain! Just tell me one thing -- if I can find a way to fucking _kill_ you, will that set me free?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No. I told you this magic couldn't be undone. You're a Malfoy forever."

"The tether! I'm talking about the fucking tether that keeps me from going to Ginny to work this out!"

"If Draco dies," said Lucius Malfoy in a stern tone, his eyes glittering as he stared at Harry, "the position of scion Malfoy shall revert to me and I will be in control of your adjustment to the family. I can't imagine I would be well-disposed to the man who slaughtered my son, no matter that he is also _my son_."

Fuck. Lucius Malfoy's son. Harry thought he could barely, just barely, _maybe_ stomach having Narcissa be a bit motherly -- she seemed to be good at it, no matter that she tended to be an absolute bitch to outsiders. But Lucius Malfoy's son?

Harry didn't think so!

"It doesn't matter," said Malfoy impatiently. "Harry, be reasonable. You can't hurt me and you certainly can't kill me, and I'm not your enemy any longer, anyway. I'm your _brother_."

"A brother who ruins my whole life is no sort of brother in my books!"

"But she was going to ruin it, Harry! I told you, she doesn't love you!"

Harry jumped up from the table, grabbed his chair, and threw it across the room. It didn't bounce off any shields, probably because he'd aimed it ten feet away from any of the Malfoys. 

It smashed against a wall and lay in a crumpled heap, and Harry took a moment's satisfaction imagining that the heap was Malfoy, twisted and shattered into pieces.

"You can destroy as many furnishings as you like and it won't change a thing," said Malfoy earnestly. Fuck, he hadn't even flinched when Harry had hurled the chair. He had that much confidence in the shield. "You can ruin the whole manor and at the end of it, you'll still be a Malfoy and we'll still care what happens to you."

Harry wished he hadn't wrecked his chair, then. He wanted to collapse into it, exhausted. He settled instead for glaring at Malfoy and trying not to let his voice break. "If you cared what happened to me, you'd let me go to her, Malfoy. She does love me. And we were going to start a family and-- you took it all away."

"She doesn't love you," insisted Malfoy. "I Saw it all, Harry. Your marriage was going to be a disaster and lead the whole world right into one! It was like the anchor spell on a whole set of curses, locking them together and making them happen--"

"She loves me, she loves me, she _loves_ me!"

"She _doesn't!_ She--"

"Draco," interrupted Narcissa quietly, "this is not the sort of argument that one can win."

Harry didn't stay to hear anything else. He flung the door back on its hinges on the way out, and tried to rip the banister off the staircase as he ran up three flights in a row. He found an attic room, like the one he'd asked for except a lot less dusty than he'd imagined it, and sat down on the floor in the corner and wrapped his arms around his legs.

Then he waited for the fucking tether to pull on him, to yank him back to Malfoy the way it had that one time . . . but it didn't.

oOoOoOoOoOo

By the time Malfoy came to get him, Harry had had hours to think. He'd done his best not to waste them.

So, he wasn't a slave at all, but an adopted Malfoy. He didn't like that, particularly not the part about it being "real" in the kind of world where nothing but blood mattered, but he could deal with it. Mrs. Malfoy was right about it being better than slavery -- though Harry had to tell himself that several times before it really started to sink in.

The adoption's provisions -- things like the tether -- made the whole situation seem like slavery to Harry, but the way Malfoy had explained them gave him some things to think about.

The tether was under the control of the family scion, and its purpose was merely to keep an adopted child "where he belonged" until he could adjust, which Harry presumed to mean, until he could accept the adoption and regard himself as a member of the family.

Now, there was no question that Malfoy was misusing the tether. Harry wasn't a child to be controlled, and he'd been tricked into being adopted anyway, which ought to be a loophole, but evidently wasn't. Malfoy had no business keeping Harry on a leash.

But -- and this was the key point -- complaining about the tether and asserting his rights weren't going to do him any good. Not when Malfoy didn't care about his rights.

The real question, therefore, was what _would_ do him some good in this situation?

Not complaining, right. Not pointing out the unfairness of the situation. Not whinging about Ginny. He'd already done all of those, plenty, and if anything, it had only made Malfoy more determined that Harry would "run away" the instant the tether was released.

Harry also couldn't imagine that throwing chairs and threatening to break Malfoy's nose were going to help his cause.

No . . . the only thing that might possibly help was the thing that Malfoy wanted.

Adjustment.

Acceptance.

Not that Harry could offer those up on demand . . . even a demand from himself, propelled by his desire to be free of all this. 

But he could certainly pretend.

It would be a tricky balancing act. Malfoy was too clever to believe that Harry had changed overnight, and he would be suspicious if Harry never backslid into old attitudes of thought and behavior.

But if Harry were careful, he could probably pull it off. He'd have to unbend slowly, and be sure to stay as much like himself as he could, even though he'd be playing a role. 

As much like himself as he could . . .

Harry didn't know everything that meant, but he was sure of one thing. Defense against the Dark Arts was his favorite subject, and Malfoy knew it. Why else would Harry have wanted to be an Auror, of all things, after the hell he'd gone through to get rid of Voldemort? 

Given that, it only stood to reason that a Harry Potter acting like himself wouldn't turn down an opportunity to learn new dueling techniques, learn to defend against the kind of serious dark spells that Ministry trainers were afraid to use -- or didn't know how to wield in the first place.

Malfoy also knew that Harry liked flying, and that he hated Potions but had become mysteriously talented at them for a single year . . . or not so mysteriously. Snape had probably mentioned Harry's "cheating" at some point. It would be just like him to badmouth Harry any chance he got, and in the Order's best interest besides, if it helped convince Voldemort and the other Death Eaters that Snape wanted Harry dead.

What else would Malfoy expect, though, if Harry was acting like himself?

Harry was still pondering that when he heard a soft footfall on the landing outside and then the noise of the door creaking open. Malfoy stood in the corridor, lit from behind by a pair of wall sconces throwing shadows. For a long moment, Malfoy just stood there, staring down at where Harry was sitting on the floor.

When he spoke, it was in a hesitant voice that made Harry wonder what his parents might have said to him.

"We're having a late dessert, if you'd like to join us."

Harry almost agreed, but caught himself in time. That would be too much, too soon. The point here was to lull Malfoy into believing Harry could be reconciled to being a member of the family. It wasn't to raise his suspicions that everything Harry said and did was a total lie.

"I don't think so." He made the words sullen -- but not too sullen.

Malfoy crossed the threshhold and knelt down beside him, settling back onto his heels. It was such an unaccustomed posture for him that Harry almost raised an eyebrow. Malfoy, on his knees? With _his_ pride?

But then, Harry had learned during the last year of the war that how the Malfoys behaved toward outsiders had nothing to do with how they felt and behaved toward one another. And now, "one another" included Harry -- as far as they were concerned, anyway.

"Are you all right?"

"I don't think so." Harry glanced once at Malfoy and then pulled up his knees to his chest, leaning his arms on them and burying his face between his elbows. 

He felt a tentative touch on his shoulder that lasted only a brief moment, like Malfoy wanted to comfort him but knew it wouldn't be welcomed.

"This is going to work out, Harry. You'll see."

Harry raised his head to glare. "Why, because you do?"

"I didn't mean that."

Some curiosity was probably appropriate at this point, thought Harry. "I don't believe you know the future, but just for the sake of argument . . . what's it like?"

"The future?"

"I meant being a Seer."

Malfoy gave a sharp nod. "It's got nothing to do with what Trelawney tried to teach us. You can't look into a crystal ball and see some kind of fate written in stone. It's more like . . . a series of pathways through Devil's Snare, tendrils of plants in constant motion, closing off one path or pushing it to the side, to a different destiny, or closing a path off altogether. At the ends of the paths are outcomes, and when the path runs straight and true, unobstructed, I can get a sense of that outcome, but it usually depends on other pathways being open and-- and--" A rueful smile curled his lips and reached his eyes. "It's difficult to explain."

Harry didn't have to lie at all to tell him, "You were doing all right."

Malfoy shook his head. "No, I wasn't. If you could See what I do, you'd know that. It's like trying to explain the roar of the ocean to someone who's lived all his life in a world devoid of sound."

"What makes the tendrils close and open the paths?"

"The very thing that drives the future forward. Decisions." Malfoy paused. "The future changes as the present evolves, and since I can't control anyone's decisions but my own, paths involving me are the ones I can See most clearly. And even those can close off because of other people's decisions. This evening, for example. I was determined not to tell you about the adoption until other pathways opened up later. I could see that the paths were linked together . . . but then Father took that decision away from me, and now the path that represented your ignorance is gone, and . . ."

"You've lost your way?" He didn't want to seem too sympathetic, though, so Harry painted a bright smile on his face as he asked the next question. "The Devil's Snare will crush you to death?"

"I don't see where the paths join any longer," corrected Malfoy. "I'll know when something happens to link them again, and lets me See further into the thicket."

Harry didn't understand that completely, but it reminded him a bit of prophecies shifting -- like the way the prophecy about him could have been about Neville -- if Voldemort had made a different decision all those years ago.

Which didn't mean he believed Malfoy was a Seer.

It just didn't mean he didn't believe him, either.

"I have a headache," Harry suddenly said. It was true, too.

"You're trying to visualize something beyond the understanding of those without the Sight. It affects some people that way." Malfoy rose to his feet in a single motion that looked like magic was involved, it was so elegant. "Come downstairs and have dessert with us, Harry. I'll Summon a potion for you on the way."

"I think I'd rather just sleep it off," said Harry as he lumbered to his feet. Then something very strange occurred to him. "Do you really regard me as a member of your family, now?"

Malfoy tilted his head. "Of course."

Harry didn't think outrage was misplaced at this point, or that it would strike any warning bells. "Then why the hell are you making me sleep in your bed? That's not normal! That's not _brotherly_ at all, is it?"

"You don't think the Weasleys, with all those children, never had any of them sharing a bed?"

"I think you have enough beds in your hotel of of a house that it's hardly necessary in this case!"

"Not for that reason, no."

"Then why?" Harry blew out a breath that made his fringe fly into the air. "You can keep me tethered; you don't need to keep me in sight!"

"I do, actually."

" _Why?_ "

"One reason is that I want to spend as much time as possible with you. I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me. Another reason is that it's keeping a pathway open."

Harry stared. "A pathway to what?"

"I don't know, not exactly."

"What do you know?"

Malfoy walked to the door and put a hand on the frame as he thought about that. With the light the way it was, Harry couldn't see his eyes clearly, but he would bet that they were trancelike again. 

Malfoy might not really be a Seer, but he obviously believed that he was one.

"I know that it's a pathway leading away from the wilderness of despair I sometimes sense lurking around corners." Turning, he met Harry's gaze. "I know that it's the right thing to do. For now, at least."

"Malfoy--"

"It shouldn't be such an imposition," he said, chin lifted high. "I don't snore, and it's not as though I've done . . . any of the things you were worried about. I haven't even touched you except to provide healing or hold you when you needed it."

"I keep waking up in your arms!"

"At first that was because it worked better than warming potions to help you stop shivering. And now . . ." Malfoy shrugged, his expression a bit speculative. "We seem to move toward each other during the night. I promise you, Harry, I'm not waking up to pull you into my arms. I'm not even tugging on the tether. I just go to sleep, and when I wake up, we're . . ."

"Cuddling," said Harry in a tone that he hoped conveyed all the disgust in the world.

"It might be happening because you subconsciously recognize me as a source of comfort after those two weeks when I took care of you. Or maybe it's the adoption magic encouraging you to get to know me. You fight it with all your might when you're awake, but asleep?" Malfoy shrugged again. "I am the scion Malfoy. It's natural that you should want to know me better, not that you seem to be aware of that yet."

Harry tucked that little clue away for further reflection -- it was useful to know more about Malfoy's expectations for how an "adjusted" Harry should behave.

"Can we at least put a pillow between us?"

Malfoy laughed like he found the idea ludicrous, but to Harry's astonishment, he didn't object. "Yes, we can put a pillow between us. Now will you come down and have dessert? Or maybe just some soothing tea with your headache potion?"

Harry hesitated, then decided that the headache provided enough of an excuse for him to give in. Without it, Malfoy might be suspicious -- he'd admitted to his parents that Harry was difficult to deal with, after all.

"My head really does hurt," he said, careful to moan, just a little bit. Some doubt was probably appropriate, though. "Are you sure your parents-- I mean, I did wreck a chair and probably dented the wall besides--"

"It's been _Reparoed_ and forgotten. We don't hold grudges against family."

"Well . . ."

"You can have as much whipped cream as you like," said Malfoy in a coaxing tone. "Hmm?"

"What's for dessert?"

"I've no idea."

"Then how do you know that whipped cream will go with it?"

"Such innocence. Whipped cream goes with _everything_ , Harry."

He waited another fifteen seconds, then gave a little shrug. "All right, but I'm only agreeing because you didn't try to use the tether."

"I'll remember."

The odd thing was that Malfoy sounded . . . like he meant it.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Malfoy threw back the bedcovers and tossed a thick, fluffy pillow in the approximate center of his bed. "There. How's that?"

Harry drew his wand. "Can I . . ."

"Your magic's not restricted in any way. Not by the adoption magic and not by me. The only thing you have to worry about is your own spells bouncing back at you."

Harry had known that, sort of. He hadn't analyzed it quite like that, but he'd certainly been able to cast at will during his duel-via-doppleganger. "I was thinking more of the fact that it's not my pillow," he said dryly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're to make yourself at home here. You _are_ at home here."

No he wasn't, but instead of saying so, Harry ignored the comment. "Can I have my own wand back?"

"Someday, yes. But for now, it's important that you get as friendly as you can with mine."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Can I have mine back if I just tuck it away somewhere and promise to use yours all the time?"

Malfoy paused to think about that. "I don't think it's a good idea," he said slowly. "Wands don't usually respond well to divided loyalties like that."

"I didn't have any trouble with yours when I had mine but it was broken--"

"But that's the point. Yours was _broken_ and you knew it, which meant you had to fully commit to using mine. I presume you somehow managed to repair yours before returning mine? That explains why it was so simple for me to master it again. It knew it was no longer wanted. I don't want the hawthorn wand feeling that way now. You _do_ want it, if only because it's the only wand you have access to."

"Wands don't have feelings, Malfoy."

"Don't they?"

Harry scowled. He'd had just about enough of this. And besides, if he wanted to stay in-character, he couldn't just put up with Malfoy's decrees. He lifted the hawthorn wand and snapped out the incantation without thinking, putting all his power into the spell. " _Accio_ Harry Potter's wand!"

Nothing happened but perhaps that was because the hawthorn wand was effectively his for the moment. " _Accio_ Harry Potter's holly wand!"

Nothing happened that time, either.

Malfoy gave him a scornful look. "Contrary to your assumptions, I am not brainless. Your wand is safe and sound, but where no spell of yours could possibly reach it. Should I explain in smaller words?"

"Shut up."

"Apparently not." Malfoy climbed into the bed, nonchalant.

Harry stood beside it, staring down.

"As you like," said Malfoy, shrugging a little as he turned on his side, facing away as he usually did when they went to sleep. A moment later, the lights in the room went out.

Harry tugged a blanket free--no mean feat when it was tucked around Malfoy--and bedded down on the floor. He waited for the tug of the tether to drag him into the bed. And waited. And waited.

After half an hour he rolled onto his other side, wincing a little. Damn it, he was going soft or something. He ought to be able to handle sleeping on the floor!

He held out for another hour, tossing and turning. Just for the hell of it, he tried to move farther from the bed every few minutes, only to find that the tether wouldn't let him. 

His choice was bed or floor, but not freedom.

It infuriated him that even asleep, Malfoy could keep him leashed like this!

Finally, Harry had had enough. He sprang to his feet, walked the scant distance to the bed, and gave Malfoy an almighty shove. "Stop hogging!"

"Hmm? Oh, bed. Good on you . . ." Malfoy mumbled something else as he rolled over, making room for Harry, who made a show of putting a pillow between them again. God only knew what had happened to the first one. Malfoy's bed was a mound of fluffiness by that point, the blankets sort of swallowing him, only his face poking out.

Harry resented it. Malfoy ought to be tossing and turning, not sleeping like a baby angel!

"And you _do_ snore," he loudly announced. Who cared that it was probably three in the morning by then?

"What?" It was like Malfoy came instantly awake, his voice alert, lacking all the lazy languor it had held the moment before. "What nonsense. I most certainly do not."

"You do. You make soft little snarfling noises. Like a _girl_."

"Malfoys never snore," he retorted, in the same tone of voice a normal person would use to claim the sky was blue.

Harry rolled his eyes. "So sorry, my mistake. I forgot you were sodding perfect."

"You're the one who thinks he's perfect," said Malfoy, sounding like he was blowing sharply through his nose. Harry was abruptly put in mind of an annoyed dragon puffing smoke. "I, on the other hand, am only too aware of my faults. I have to be aware of them, Harry. The only way to see farther as a Seer is to shed layers of myself, trying to root out the dark. Well, it's a light talent, you know!" He said the last as though Harry had been arguing the point.

"You still snore." A moment after he'd said it, Harry felt ashamed. Yeah, Malfoy did, but it wasn't like he made great rasping noises that would keep Harry awake. And snoring or not wasn't very important against the claim that Malfoy had just made.

A claim Harry would rather not believe, but then, the prat _had_ freed his elves, and he'd probably filled in the dungeons like he'd said, and it was certainly true that he hadn't dueled Harry but let his father do it instead . . .

"Is it getting easier?" he asked, resisting an impulse to roll off his back so he could look at Malfoy and see the expression on his face.

"I don't snore!"

"Is shedding the dark parts of yourself getting easier?"

"Oh." There was a long pause. "It doesn't come naturally. I . . . I don't know if it's getting easier. Sometimes I can't tell what the magic wants from me."

"Worthy deeds, you said."

Malfoy's voice went completely dry. "Those can be difficult to identify when they go against a lot of the things I've always lived with."

"Like elves, you mean?"

"Like the idea that Malfoys deserve to own elves. And that what the elves themselves might prefer doesn't matter. And that--" He cleared his throat. "That pureblood magic is somehow superior to the kind that half-bloods have. I'm not an idiot; I know now that it can't be. But _knowing_ it is harder than knowing it-- never mind. I'm not explaining properly."

"Is that just since you dragged me into your family? You can't stand the thought of a half-blood Malfoy, so you have to start telling yourself that blood isn't so special, after all?"

"No, it's not just since then. It's since the war."

"I don't know why that would convince you of anything." Harry snorted in the dark. A lot of people called him a hero for the things he'd done, but he couldn't see it. Most of the time he'd felt like he was barely keeping his head above water. And it wasn't like he'd done it alone, anyway. The final duel, sure. But that had only worked the way it had because Voldemort had no Horcruxes left. 

Without Ron and Hermione helping him, that wouldn't have been true. Harry could never have found and destroyed all of them alone.

"Maybe because you saved my life?"

"You didn't seem so grateful at the time--"

"Then because you defeated the Dark Lord!"

Harry snorted again. "Please. Wouldn't you just look at that as one half-blood defeating another?"

"That's almost the point, isn't it? He was a half-blood, and I couldn't stand up to him," said Draco bleakly.

Harry wasn't sure why he'd want to comfort Malfoy, but then again, what he said next was only the truth. "You couldn't kill Dumbledore--"

"That was the last time I defied the Dark Lord, though," said Malfoy, a shudder jiggling the blankets as it coursed through him. "You don't know the things he made me do. Not kill, but-- well, let's just say that they were hardly worthy deeds."

Harry didn't want to admit that he'd seen personal things like Malfoy being ordered to torture people, so he stayed silent. After a moment, Malfoy went on.

"I couldn't stand up to him, and neither could my father. But Snape could, in his sneaky way. And you could, in your forthright way."

"And your mother could, in the end." Harry felt it was only fair to point that out.

"Yes. So it turned out to be strength of character that mattered, not bloodlines." Malfoy sighed. "I used to know where I was going and how I was going to get there. Now, it's like I'm flying without a broom beneath me." Another shudder jiggled the blankets. "Or not. I wasn't trying to allude to _him_." 

Harry thought for a moment, opened his mouth, and then thought better of it. He had to remember the part he was playing. He had to seem accepting, because otherwise, Malfoy was never going to release him from the tether.

"You're . . . different," he said instead. "I mean, you don't seem like the same man who showed up at my wedding."

"I'm _not_ that person. But I had to make you panic, so you'd go along--"

Harry let his voice get scathing. "And was that a worthy deed? Lying, scheming, tricking me into this family?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

That was the end of being accepting, thought Harry. "Yes, I do! I damned well do!"

"If it keeps the world from burning to a cinder, then _yes_ , it was a worthy deed!" Harry might have had to concede that point, but all thought of that flew out the window as Malfoy kept talking. "And your marriage was going to be a disaster anyway! I don't See everything but I could hardly miss the fact that she was going to end up cheating on you like mad--"

Harry roared with outrage and flung himself sideways, his closed fist slamming through the air in an arc as he whirled. Maybe, just maybe, if he knocked Malfoy's teeth down his throat, the git would learn to watch his fucking tongue--

"Ow, _ow!_ " shouted Harry, his fist connecting with what felt like a solid concrete wall. "Fuck!"

A light suddenly flared from the end of a wand, and Harry saw that Malfoy was sitting up in bed. "Harry--"

Harry wasn't ready to listen to another lecture about the damned shield. "I think I broke a bone, you fucker!"

"Several, probably." Malfoy sighed, swished his wand a few times through the air, and pronounced a healing charm. It made something -- several somethings -- in Harry's hand snap back into place.

And that hurt worse than the original injury. "Ow, damn it, ow!"

Malfoy waited a moment. "Better now?"

"Yeah," said Harry grudgingly. "And you don't have to tell me how it's all my fault and you warned me and all that rot. But if you just wouldn't say such disgusting things about Ginny, I wouldn't--"

"You're right," interrupted Malfoy. "I shouldn't have said that. My apologies."

It was official, then. Harry had truly lost his mind. Nothing else could explain Malfoy's last comment.

A knock sounded at the door, following by the gentle trill of a voice. "My darlings? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Mother," said Malfoy in a long-suffering voice. "Do come in."

Narcissa poked her head into the room. "I heard a ward twinge again. And Harry screaming."

"I'm sure you did."

Narcissa stepped fully into the room, her sleeping robes fluttering around her like strands of stardust, and just stared.

Malfoy had evidently seen that expression many times before. "Don't look at me like that. He tried to hit me."

"Because he called my fiancée a slut!"

"Draco!" 

"I never used that word--"

"As good as--"

Narcissa silenced them both with a glare. "I told you, Draco. Talk like that, no matter what you may have Seen, serves no purpose save to antagonize your brother."

Harry crossed his arms and nodded, then abruptly stopped. He didn't mean to agree with the "brother" bit. He just liked hearing Draco Malfoy told off. About time somebody cut the twerp down to size--

"And you, Harry," said Narcissa, just as sternly. "I understand that you are shocked and distressed by the events of the past few weeks, but forgetting that the adoption magic will rebound violence onto you is simply foolish." 

Harry pursed his lips and looked away. He wasn't . . . he didn't . . . he couldn't figure out how he was supposed to react to that. He should be outraged. Offended. Disgusted that the woman thought she could talk to him like that . . .

The trouble was, though, that a tiny piece of him, deep inside, sort of liked it. She sounded . . . motherly.

"Now, is there any point to your father and myself attempting to get some sleep?" 

"Yes, Mother," said Malfoy, less rudely than before. Not rudely at all, in fact. He sounded chagrined. "I'm sorry. I'm sure Harry is sorry too." 

That last part was too much. "I'm not sorry except that I hit the shield instead of him," muttered Harry.

Narcissa shook her head a little, her sleeping robes fluttering like they were animated by magic -- which they probably were, reflected Harry sourly. "Good-night, then. Sleep well." 

As the door softly closed after her, Harry rolled on his side, facing away from Malfoy.

"Good-night, Harry." 

"Yeah," said Harry shortly, then wondered if he should be a little more accepting. He decided in the end to fuck it. He wasn't in the mood to play that game. Not just then.

It didn't matter, anyway.

He woke up the next morning in Malfoy's arms, no pillow between them, though one had ended up on the floor.

Harry didn't like it, but waking up _cuddling_ did have one thing going for it: at least it looked like Harry was accepting.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Enjoying your book?" asked Narcissa softly as she gracefully sank down into a chair in the garden.

Above her head, branches subtly shifted to provide her with dappled shade.

"Not really," said Harry, shoving it away. "I can't get into it."

Narcissa frowned. "I thought that Lucius started you with one that was focused on countering Dark curses rather than casting them."

"He did, yeah, but . . ." Harry sighed. "I'd normally be interested, but since it seems like I'll never be allowed to go back to work . . ."

"Oh, you will be. Rest assured." 

"Look," said Harry. He didn't want to be rude, not when Malfoy's mother had been unfailingly kind to him for the past few days, ever since the night he'd tried and failed to deck Malfoy. But then, she'd been kind before that, too. "I don't have your blind faith in his powers, or whatever it is you think he has. I've got no reason to believe that he can See past the end of his pointy nose."

"Oh, Harry." Narcissa gave him a gentle smile. "Forget the Sight and merely consider who we are. It can only be to our benefit that you return to a high position in the Ministry as soon as possible."

"It's not a high position. I'm just going to be a junior Auror to start--"

"If you say so." She sounded like she was humoring him.

"And if you think I'm going to go public with-- oh, fuck."

"Hmm?"

Harry felt dizzy enough to wonder if the blood was literally draining from his face. "You're going to, aren't you? Or _he's_ going to. Go public. When he knows I don't want to be a Malfoy--"

"You don't understand us well at all if you think we'd do such a thing." Narcissa leaned forward a little, her hands fluttering. "There's little advantage to be had from your ill-will. Most certainly, the advantage of public notice regarding your adoption would not outweigh it."

"Like your son cares about my ill-will--"

"Does he not?"

"Shut up."

Harry didn't know what else to say. The truth was that apart from keeping him in Wiltshire, Malfoy wasn't doing much these days to offend. And his motives for tethering Harry . . . well, he was definitely deluded, but he did seem to believe that the alternative would be a lot worse.

As in, Armageddon-style worse.

"Where is he all the time, anyway?" Harry asked. He'd wondered about it for days. Malfoy had been a constant presence while Harry had been ill, but now that he was completely well again . . . Harry saw him at meals and of course in bed at night, and occasionally in passing during the day, but no more than that.

"He had to take a great time away from his studies to care for you." Narcissa shrugged. "He's gone back to developing the Sight. And of course there's never any end to his scion duties. He's young to have to carry so much on his broom."

"Then why make him the scion?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly astonished. "Who else was in a position to guard the family honor? Lucius had no hope of guiding us into the brave new world. He had been too thoroughly discredited. Whereas Draco's mistakes could, in time, be attributed to the foibles of youth and to . . ." She grimaced, just a little. "Poor role models."

"Why couldn't you have become the scion, though?"

"Me? No, no -- I am entirely unsuitable."

"Why?" Harry almost smiled inside, because he thought that if he could get the Malfoys to take the position of scion back, it would at least be some sort of revenge for what Malfoy had done to him. "You'd be a lot better at it than your son. I could even help you with the family honor thing. You know, play up the bit about how you helped me in the end, how without you I'd probably have died right there in the forest."

His best wheedling voice wasn't working.

"Harry, I know you are largely a stranger to our ways, but what you suggest . . . it is simply not done."

"I thought the wizarding world didn't have _that_ sort of prejudice. I thought witches were considered just as smart and capable as--"

"It's naught to do with gender. It's merely that I am like you, Harry -- not born a Malfoy."

Oh.

"You aren't like me. You can leave the manor when you please. You can have the wand you prefer. You can slap your stupid son's face when he's being an arse."

He wondered for a moment if she'd take offense at his wording, but only for a moment. In the past few days, she'd made it clear that members of the family had a great deal of license when it came to that sort of thing. Outside the Manor grounds they were expected to band together in solidarity no matter their personal feelings--which explained a lot about Draco in school, Harry thought--but at home they were free to call each other idiots.

Which they did, sometimes. They just did it with so much class that it had taken Harry a while to pick up on it.

"You too will be allowed to leave the manor when the time is right," said Mrs. Malfoy with a hint of a smile. "Draco has concluded, quite correctly in my view, that you can do more good for the family at your job than you can do here."

Harry snorted. "Like I'm going to develop some kind of blindness when it comes to your lot and keep the Aurors from popping by to investigate suspicous Dark doings--"

"I think Draco knows you too well to think that. But do you know him? He can't engage in Dark rituals or he'll set himself back in his studies. And he most definitely can't tolerate anything suspect from his father or myself. He's the scion Malfoy. And trust me, Harry, his view of how to promote the family honor is diametrically opposed to the path his father took." Narcissa gave a wistful smile. "Would that Lucius could have known in advance where our interests truly lay. But his upbringing blinded him. As did mine."

"You did all right, in the end." Harry cleared his throat. "But it would have been better if you could have done what you did because it was right for everyone, not just because it was right for your family."

"We were raised, Lucius and I, to believe in the invisible hand." She shrugged as if that explained everything.

"The what?"

She could have disparaged Harry's lack of wizarding education, but all she did was smile gently as she explained. "It's the idea that if everyone acts in his or her best interests, then it will be as if an invisible hand is guiding the nation to the best possible destiny. Lucius and I both were taught that what may seem to be selfishness is in truth the best and highest course to pursue."

"Sounds immoral." Harry fixed her with a stern glance. "There's such a thing as right and wrong."

"I think that is Draco's entire point. He can See farther than any of us, and what has he Seen, Harry? One thing above all: that what you think is right for you, will be wrong for the entire world."

"So now _I'm_ the selfish one?" asked Harry, glaring. "Because I'd rather not have had my wedding ruined? Because I object to being tricked into joining your damned family?"

Mrs. Malfoy slowly rose to her feet, the branches overhead shifting to keep the sunlight falling on her soft and dappled. "Read your books, Harry. And don't judge Draco too terribly harshly. You had to make a difficult choice once too, as I recall."

"Mine only hurt myself!"

"Not so, I think. But if true, then one might well say that you were fortunate."

She drifted off into the gardens, leaving Harry staring after her.

After a few moments, he shook his head and got back to reading the book on curse-blocking that Mr. Malfoy had recommended. Or trying, at least. It was hard slogging, since Harry wasn't used to reading accounts written from the point of view of dark wizards.

But then, if he was going to spend his life fighting such wizards, he really ought to understand them as much as possible.

If . . . if . . . could he trust Malfoy to let him go back to work, really? And if he could, when would the time be right? When Harry was old and gray? When the path split, whatever that meant?

Questions like that weren't helping him get through the reading. 

Sighing, Harry refocused his concentration on the book and tried not to think about the fact that he might not be able to put any of these tips to use . . . unless he counted duels against a doppleganger.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Another apertif, Harry?"

The question took Harry aback, coming as it did from Malfoy's father. By then he was used to the drinks-before-dinner routine, of course. He'd refused at first to join the Malfoys for anything but the meal. Surprisingly enough, Malfoy hadn't used the tether to insist. Then Harry had started showing up in the drawing room toward the end of the drinks hour, and then finally, he'd grudgingly accepted a sherry when offered. It was all a part of his plan to look like he was gradually coming to accept his status as a member of the family.

Plan or no, though, he couldn't get used to Mr. Malfoy calling him "Harry" like that, without dark overtones, without scorn or sarcasm.

"Uh . . . sure, I guess," he answered.

Mr. Malfoy frowned, probably at his diction, not that Harry cared. He was who he was, and if they didn't like it, they shouldn't have adopted him.

Not that Mr. Malfoy had had any say in the matter. It had been Malfoy's decision, clear through. Benefits of being the scion.

"Perhaps we could speak about our duel," said Mr. Malfoy as he handed Harry a tiny crystal glass and resumed his seat across from him. 

Harry had been putting that off. He'd agreed to talk tactics, but that had been before the big "you've been adopted" revelation. Then he'd told himself that he should act like himself, which meant an interest in Defense, but Mr. Malfoy hadn't seemed to want to talk about the duel until now. He'd limited himself to offering Harry reading material, and then offering to discuss it with him. The conversations made Harry uncomfortable, though. Half the time he was remembering the way Lucius Malfoy had referred to him as one of his "sons," and the other half, he was feeling awkward that he was listening to advice from a dark wizard.

And not just that, but pretty much a failure of a dark wizard, considering the way the war had gone.

Harry wasn't sure if that made it better or worse to listen to him. He just knew that not much actual listening got done.

Which was a shame, in a way, because on another level entirely, Lucius Malfoy was a powerful dark wizard who knew a lot of spells -- enough to challenge Harry practically to his limit, even without resorting to _Sectumsempra_. He could have really been something, if he hadn't been stupid enough to follow Voldemort. If he hadn't been too proud to change course when it was obvious that he'd made a terrible mistake.

"Yeah, all right," he finally said. "You won, obviously. Go ahead and gloat."

"Oh, Harry," said Mrs. Malfoy in a chiding voice.

Two words, that was all, and Harry felt like a heel. Harry wasn't sure how she did it. He shouldn't care what she thought.

But some part of him did.

For his part, Mr. Malfoy ignored the childish sentiment. "Why do you think I won?"

"Because--" Complaints about cheating would fall on deaf ears, Harry knew. Unfortunately, that was probably as it should be. Harry knew he shouldn't expect a dark wizard to fight fairly. The odd part was that Mr. Malfoy _had_ treated him fairly, in one sense at least -- he'd warned Harry in advance that cheating was only to be expected.

Which went to prove, Harry supposed, that the man _had_ been trying to train him, in his own twisted way.

Though Harry thought that Malfoy had also been glad of a chance to cast a cutting curse at him.

"Because?" prompted Mr. Malfoy, the query mild.

Right. Harry had lost his train of thought. "Because I hesitated," he said after another moment had elapsed. 

"Yes -- I would identify that as the crux of the matter as well." Malfoy leaned forward slightly, his gaze boring into Harry's. "Why did you hesitate?"

"Because I wasn't expecting _Sectumsempra_."

Malfoy regarded him sternly. _Like a father might a son,_ thought Harry uncomfortably. "I doubt you were expecting _Relougément_. Yet that didn't make you hesitate."

Harry had never even heard of _Relougément_. Literally, since most of the duel had been so silent.

"Well, I didn't think anybody besides Snape even knew about _Sectumsempra_. He invented it, and I only found out about it by . . . er, well--"

"Snooping," calmly finished Malfoy.

Harry supposed that Snape must have spread the story. "It wasn't quite like that--" 

"No matter. Your hesitation was not caused by surprise that I knew the spell. Stop being disingenous."

Harry had been surprised, but he supposed that Malfoy was right about his hesitation. "Look, you may think that slicing people to ribbons is a fine way to pass an afternoon, but I don't, and when you cast that, it made me remember how I'd done it to your son without meaning to, and-- and I thought you must be getting revenge for that, and-- and . . . ."

"Exactly," said Malfoy softly. "You remembered. You _thought_. You lost the duel before the cutting curse struck. You lost it when you allowed yourself to leave it."

"Mentally," said Harry, nodding.

"Your Auror training has left you far less transparent than I remember. You no longer fling your intentions ahead of you with every glance. At least, not while dueling. That is all to the good, and I was pleased to see it. But it seems to me that the Ministry didn't teach you the most important lesson of all." Malfoy leaned forward again, just a fraction more. "You must separate yourself from the rest of the world during a duel. You must leave aside any speculation about your opponent's motives. You should not _care_ why I cast a particular spell."

"Right. I should only care that I can counter it or dodge it."

Malfoy sighed slightly. "Another area for improvement, Harry. You should only care about _winning_. Instead, far too many of your spells were focused on not _losing_. I suppose it's only to be expected that the Ministry would stress defensive magic. If you want to excel at your job, you'd do well to master offensive magic just as much."

"They taught us offensive magic!"

"Not enough," said Malfoy scathingly. "I'm out of practice, and many of my spells are . . . not what they used to be. Yet you could barely fend me off, even before I surprised you with the cutting curse."

Harry supposed that the man meant he'd been a better duelist before his imprisonment in Azkaban, but that wasn't what caught his attention most. "You're admitting a weakness? To _me_?"

He looked away, centering his gaze on the portrait dominating one wall. As far as Harry knew, it never moved or spoke. "If it will help you survive your chosen profession, I must admit it. Draco's actions with regard to you have made you unquestionably my son." He turned to face Harry again. "You do not know us well at all, but I think you have some inkling of the importance we place on family."

"Yeah, I think I do have some . . . but you shouldn't feel you have to . . ." Harry cleared his throat. "I mean, I suppose I could understand that your son might feel some kind of bond with me, since it was his doing, all of this. But you . . . did he even ask you what you thought? I mean, in advance?"

Malfoy regarded him for a long moment. "Yes. He did consult me."

"Lucius," said Mrs. Malfoy in a warning tone. 

"Harry is the type to appreciate honesty, I think," murmured Mr. Malfoy.

When Harry gave an emphatic nod, she sighed and seated herself beside her husband, taking one of his hands in hers and lacing their fingers together.

"Draco consulted me, as I said. He insisted that you had to come here to live, and that you would never willingly agree, not even if he explained the urgency. You simply, he claimed, would not have believed him."

"Probably true," admitted Harry. After all, he still didn't believe in Malfoy's "Seer" powers. He did think that Malfoy believed in them, but that didn't make them real. 

"He told us of his daft plan to adopt into the family without your knowledge." Mr. Malfoy closed his eyes. "To describe my reaction as horrified would be a vast understatement."

"Yeah, I understand--"

"I don't think he does, Lucius," interjected Mrs. Malfoy quietly.

"Ah." Malfoy's father fixed Harry with his gaze. "The horror stemmed from Draco's way of proceeding. Whether you like it or not, you are a towering public figure in our world, and what Draco was proposing? Disrupting your wedding in such a fashion alone would be enough to earn whatever ill-will you didn't already bear us. But Draco was planning to go beyond that and cause you to believe you were enslaved -- even _after_ the adoption spell had sealed. The entire notion was insane and we told him as much."

"But he didn't listen to you."

"He declared that I had forfeited any claim to good judgement and that there was a reason he was the scion Malfoy these days. And as such, he could proceed as he would." Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "He would brook no disagreement."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And so you just _let_ him do this to me."

"You don't understand," said Mr. Malfoy, sighing. "Adopting a new member of the family is the purview of the scion. I am magically barred from interfering with Draco's duties in that regard. All I can do is attempt to persuade him of the correct course . . . and he does have his reasons for doubting my judgement."

"But-- but you were going to tell me the truth about the adoption, even though he didn't want you to."

"Oh, I can speak my mind, no doubt. Narcissa and I held back as long as we did because Draco kept regaling us with horror stories about the paths he can See. At a certain point, however, I couldn't bear it any longer." Another fixed gaze. "For you too are my son. I cannot claim to know you well, but even I could see the pain it caused you to believe yourself Draco's slave."

And he _cared_? That was the part Harry had trouble believing. And yet . . . he did know a little bit about the importance the Malfoys placed on family. It was just strange to think that the word included him now -- really included him, even as far as Malfoy's father was concerned. "What about my original question?" he asked. "I wanted to know what you thought of your son deciding to add me to the family. Not what you thought about the means he chose."

"I don't know what I thought."

"Come again?"

"If you don't want lies to placate you, then you must take me at my word. I thought too many things for any one of them to dominate. I thought that if you could be made willing, which was highly doubtful under Draco's scheme, it could place the family in the best position imaginable. I thought that you would hate the very sight of us until your dying day, which would place the family in the very worst position imaginable. I thought that your disdain for Draco would mean that you could never come to believe in his Seer powers. I thought that our social circle would sneer to hear that we had adopted an uneducated half-blood."

"Lucius!"

He ignored her. "At the same time, I thought that we would be the envy of every disgraced family in wizarding Britain."

"So you have mixed feelings."

"No," he corrected. "I _had_ mixed feelings. Now I only have a determination to do what is best for my family, and that includes you." He smiled, the expression very slight. "I did not yield my role as father when I endowed Draco with the duties of the scion."

Harry didn't want to nod, since that might imply that he agreed with the "father" part of that. He wasn't sure how much of it to believe at all. But he had to say something -- hopefully something that would take for a move toward acceptance. Malfoy wasn't in the room, but Harry didn't fool himself. These people all reported to each other on his doings. He'd already seen that much.

"I understand," he said. "I think."

But he didn't. You couldn't add someone to your family just because it had been decided for you. Not even if it was magic that had done the deciding. Families had things in common. Families had _history_ together. 

And what was Harry's history with the Malfoys? They'd tried to turn him over to Voldemort during the war -- all of them except the son. He'd known. He'd _known_ it was Harry with the swollen face. Harry had seen the truth burning in his eyes.

Malfoy had known, and he hadn't betrayed Harry, not even though his father was urging him on.

"Have you any more questions for us, Harry?" asked Mrs. Malfoy, her tone so concerned and motherly that it gave him the shivers. He couldn't take it. He just . . . he didn't know how.

"Not about that." In one motion he downed the rest of his drink, not caring that it might look uncouth. "Let's get back to the duel."

"I was pleased that you could double your shield," said Mr. Malfoy levelly. "I would like to see you able to treble it, and establish the layers much more quickly."

"Right."

"And you should remember," he said in a softer voice, "that anything a dark wizard says out loud during a duel is said for no reason other than advantage. I knew that _Sectumsempra_ was likely to send your mind spinning into distractions. You must not allow an opponent to discomfit you, no matter what he may say."

"Right," Harry said again.

"You must think of your wand, and his wand, and nothing else."

Harry knew he was being inane, but he couldn't think of anything to say except _right_ a third time. Thankfully, he didn't have to say anything, since a manservant chose that moment to enter the room and execute a small bow before Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

"I am bid to tell you that Master Malfoy sends his regrets. He will be late to dinner and desires that you proceed without him."

Mrs. Malfoy inclined her head in acknowledgment, but of course she didn't do anything so untoward as actually thanking a person she paid to serve her. Harry almost sneered, thinking that it was no wonder the Malfoys had to resort to spells to keep their servants loyal. 

And they _were_ indeed loyal. 

Harry had found that out straight away, just as soon as Malfoy had gone back to his Seer studies and stopped hovering over him constantly. Well, not straight away. Despite his determination to seem resigned to his situation, he hadn't been able to resist exploring the grounds of the manor so he could look for some way to escape. The tether kept him a hundred feet away from the walls and high gates surrounding the huge estate. Harry kept looking anyway, but found nothing that could help him.

He _had_ , however, found a wizened old gardener, so short and stooped that for a split second, Harry thought he was an elf and that Malfoy had lied about all his "worthy deeds."

No such luck, though. When Harry drew closer, he'd seen that the man was a wizard, using a wand to banish some leaves that were marring a smooth expanse of artificial meadow.

"Hallo," he'd said, his mind snapping into full-Auror mode as he thought of about a thousand ways he could use this discovery to his advantage. Elfs were one thing, but since the Malfoys had human servants . . . one of them could take a message to Ginny, or owl a letter for him once they were off manor grounds, or . . . or . . .

Or nothing, as it turned out. 

"Hallo, Mr. Potter," the old man had said, giving a friendly wave with his free hand. He didn't say anything else, though. Harry was later to think that he'd probably been given instructions about keeping in his "place," or something equally stupid.

"Hallo," he said again, his mind racing to come up with a cover story. _I've been kidnapped and adopted against my will_ wasn't on, not unless Harry had no choice. He wanted to get away from the Malfoys and put all this behind him. He definitely didn't want to have to answer questions about his weeks away from wizarding society. "Er . . . what's your name?"

"Giles, Mr. Potter. At your service."

"Call me Harry."

"Oh, no. I couldn't do that." The gardener smiled and leaned a little more heavily on his cane.

Harry wondered why not. Was it his fame? The rules that Malfoy servants had to follow? Or did the man somehow know that Harry was an adopted Malfoy? He might . . . even if nobody had told him, he might have overheard the information.

Harry let the questions slide by and launched into his story. "I wonder if you could do me a favor, Giles. I've developed a terrible allergy to owls, you see, and I'm recuperating here, but I need to get a message to my fiancée. Would you be willing to owl it for me?"

Harry almost cringed; even to his own ears that story sounded lame, lame, _lame_. For one thing, it didn't explain why a guest here--let alone an adopted Malfoy--would have to seek out a servant to help him. 

The gardener didn't appear to notice the inconsistencies, though. "Oh, I'd be quite pleased to assist you," he said at once, raising Harry's spirits, but only for a split second. "But I'm afraid I'll forget all about your request the moment I Apparate home."

"How's that?"

"A condition of employment, I'm afraid." The man shrugged as though it didn't bother him, though Harry suspected that it did. "I can't remember anything about my time here unless I'm on the manor grounds. The family values their privacy."

Harry thought it was barbaric.

He also thought it wasn't going to stop him.

"Mmm, but surely when you saw my letter in your hand . . . I'll even jot down a note with instructions so you'll know what to do with it."

"Ah, but then the anti-thievery spells will interfere." Giles shook his head as he spoke. "I can't take anything home with me, Mr. Potter. Not even so much as a pebble. One time I somehow ended up with one in my pocket, and when I tried to Apparate home . . ." He flushed red.

Harry didn't want to pry, but he didn't think his circumstances left him with much alternative. "What happened?"

"I never arrived home. The Apparition took me before the scion. I was-- I was wearing nothing, not a stitch. Everything I had been wearing was piled atop his desk so he could search it."

"That's terrible."

"Well, it taught me to be a good deal more careful when I pick up pebbles."

"But you weren't trying to _steal_ it--"

"The magic doesn't care."

Yeah, Harry was familiar with that concept.

"And there are compensations." The gardener suddenly grinned. "I'm paid a fair wage for a fair day's work, with bonuses for putting up with the various charms and protections the family demands."

"Hmm." Harry cast about for another idea. "Perhaps you'd be willing to bring me some parchment from your home, then. I'll pay you for it," he added, since the man had mentioned money first. "You could take that away with you, couldn't you?"

"Yes, but I couldn't get it here in the first place. I can only arrive with items authorized by the scion. Anything extraneous will put me in the same position as suspected theft."

Harry supposed that was a protection against servants being bribed to bring in things the Malfoys would prefer to exclude from their home. Dark detectors, maybe even certain kinds of weapons, that sort of thing.

"All right," he'd said, stymied for the moment.

Over the next few days, Harry sounded out a number of other servants. He didn't tell them the "allergic to owls" story, and he didn't ask them for help. He just talked to them, finding out about the various enchantments they were under, finding out that all of them were linked the scion. These weren't wards that Harry could try to undo; only the scion could manipulate this magic.

In the end, he couldn't find a way for the servants to aid him.

He did find some things out, though. Not every servant was as circumspect as Giles. Some of them were willing to chat at Harry about the world outside the manor. They all knew about his wedding being called off. They'd been told that Harry and Malfoy had become friends since the war, and Harry had come to the manor for some much-needed solitude. They'd also been told to leave him alone unless _he_ started a conversation.

That command had puzzled Harry. He'd have expected the servants to be ordered to leave him alone, full stop.

But perhaps Malfoy had known that Harry would only take that as a challenge, perhaps even assuming it meant that the servants could help him escape or get word out.

Since they couldn't, it didn't matter much if they spoke with Harry.

"How is your little one, Anson?" Harry asked now, determined not to ignore the servant the way the Malfoys did.

"Oh, very well indeed, Mr. Potter. Thank you for asking."

Anson was usually more casual with Harry, even calling him by his first name at times. Not in front of the Malfoys, obviously. That didn't deter Harry from treating him like a human being with a life of his own. "Still teething? Keeping you awake nights?"

"A bit, yes." Anson gave a low laugh, and then obviously remembered where he was, since he gave another bow and hurried out.

"I didn't know that he had a baby," said Mrs. Malfoy slowly.

"I didn't know that he had a wife," added her husband.

"He doesn't have a wife any longer," said Harry. "She bled to death having the baby."

"Oh." Mrs. Malfoy's hands began to flutter. "I . . . I had a problem, too. Though the healers resolved it in time. But it's why we could never have another child, someone for Draco to play with and help him learn to share . . ."

So she knew, at some level, just how selfish her only child had turned out.

She also wasn't reluctant to let Harry know about something he suspected was a family secret.

That made him feel . . . he wasn't sure.

"Anson's sister looks after the baby while he's at work, but he's alone with her at night, and it's hard when she keeps him up for hours," added Harry.

"But there are charms--"

"He told me, but she needs to be held. Too many teething charms are bad for her."

"That is indeed true," murmured Narcissa. "Why . . . I had no idea that Anton's life was so challenging. However did you find these things out?"

Harry stared at her. "I _talked_ to him. And just in case you decide to try it sometime, his name is Anson."

She gave a brisk nod, suddenly reminding Harry of McGonagall, though the two women looked nothing alike. "I remember when Draco when he was that age, such a fussy little wizard. If I'd been alone, without any help . . . Well, we simply must do something for him."

"Let Draco do something," said Mr. Malfoy gruffly as he stood up and extended a hand to his wife.

"Oh, really, Lucius. A fruit basket will hardly constitute interference in his scion duties--"

She thought that a _fruit basket_ was going to help?

"Ah, but it would be a worthy deed, would it not?"

"Oh, you're brilliant, darling!" Mrs. Malfoy beamed a smile at her husband.

Harry jumped to his feet. "You're both mental. Anson doesn't need a fruit basket! He needs enough money to hire a child-minder to come over at night so he can sleep! He needs a day off each week so he can spend some waking time with his daughter!"

"Excellent suggestions," said Mr. Malfoy. "Please do feel free to convey them to Draco, Harry. You're quite right that out of all of us, you are in the best position to offer advice on what a man in Anson's position may need. Now, shall we go in to dinner?"

Harry tried to decode that and couldn't figure out if there was an insult in it or not.

"At least you are more guarded while dueling," said Mr. Malfoy, his lips pursed. "I merely inteneded to say that you understand . . ." He made a vague gesture. "Ordinary life. I do not."

Oh. 

"You must stop looking around corners for my meaning," he added.

"I can't help it." Harry's nostrils flared. "I know the kinds of things you've done. And I heard about the invisible hand. I bet you don't even think that lying's wrong!"

"It would be wrong between us, since all it could do is drive a wedge between father and son."

"Don't be so bloody ridiculous."

Mr. Malfoy looked at a loss for words for a moment. When he recovered, he said a single one, his tongue clicking out the syllables decisively. "Dinner."

"Wonderful idea, my darling," crooned Narcissa, floating ahead of them into the dining room.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry wasn't sure how it had happened, but he was actually making small talk with the Malfoys when their son finally showed up.

"Good evening, Mother, Father, Harry," he said politely as he sat down and snapped his napkin into his lap.

His main course appeared at once, a delicate cutlet that had actually made Harry shiver, but Malfoy didn't appear pleased. He tapped his wand to a small doily near one of his three forks and spoke, apparently to no-one at all. "I specified soup."

"Back on your special diet?" jeered Harry.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

The soup appeared just a few seconds later. Alphabet, as usual.

Malfoy delicately sipped the broth from time to time, but mostly he just stirred it and stared down.

"How are your studies going?" 

Malfoy glanced up at his mother. "As well as can be expected when the path's been skewed beyond recognition." He shifted his gaze to his father. "Thank you so much."

"Don't speak to me in that tone."

Malfoy looked like he might argue the point, but then gave a curt nod. Apparently his father did still have some sway over him, though it wasn't much use if he couldn't keep his son from adopting people against their will, Harry thought, scowling.

"You shouldn't look like that, Harry," said Malfoy. Harry almost expected him to follow it up with a suggestion that his face might get stuck that way, but instead he added, "Not after I've worked for your benefit today."

"What benefit?" asked Harry, all suspicion.

"I've drafted a letter for you to review." Malfoy drew it forth from his robes and passed it across the table.

"Really, Draco," said Mrs. Malfoy. "Business at the dinner table?"

"I'm hoping you can prevail upon my brother to see sense." Draco swirled his soup again, frowning. "He's likely to be obstinate for the mere sake of it."

Harry raised his eyes from the parchment. "You wrote a letter for me to sign, Malfoy. That's high-handed even for you."

"You see?" Malfoy asked him mother. "Obstinate."

"But what does the letter say, darling?"

"Harry's leave is almost up; it's a letter to request more."

"I won't sign it," said Harry.

"Must you meet my every dismal expectation?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "They'll dismiss me if I send this. At the very least they'll recommend me for a mental fitness review. It reads like I'm a very disturbed individual."

"It's polished prose!"

"For you, maybe. Coming from me, it would sound like the wedding being called off has unbalanced me." Harry drew his wand and cast a shredding spell on the parchment. 

Malfoy scoffed. "I know the counter, so you haven't accomplished much."

Mr. Malfoy spoke, then. "Have you changed your mind about retaining your post?"

"No. But I'll write my own letter to request more leave."

"Sure you will," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'll write _Help, I'm being held captive in Malfoy Manor_."

"You can read the letter before I owl it if that's your worry."

"I somehow think an Auror might utilize a Ministry code I'm not privy to!"

"Fine!" snapped Harry. "I'll dictate it aloud to your highness!"

"I also think you're clever enough to work out the code in your head for me to write down!"

Harry reared back a little, startled. "You do?" he asked before he could think better of it.

"Of course I do!"

Harry had no idea what to say to that except, "I'm writing my own letter or none at all."

"Fine, then. Lose your job. See if I care."

"Oh, you care, Malfoy," said Harry in a soft, vicious tone. "You care the world about my job. However are you going to raise the stature of this family without me in a prominent, insider's position in the Ministry?"

"You're a junior Auror, you conceited twerp, and I somehow doubt you're going to promote the interests of the family one way or another!"

"Then you shouldn't have adopted me, should you?"

" _I_ didn't! The magic did!"

"Yeah, well you did it for nothing if I lose my brilliant job over it, didn't you?"

"The Path doesn't depend on your job!"

"Then what does it depend on?"

"You being here, and Merlin only knows what else, because _somebody_ skewed the Path!"

"My darlings," said Mrs. Malfoy, the plural startling Harry so much that the retort he was ready to fling fell away from him lips. "It's so heartening to see you squabbling like brothers."

Mr. Malfoy, Harry saw, looked amused by the whole thing. Maybe because, as it turned out, his son had forgotten something. "In your eagerness to indulge your schoolboy rivalry, Draco, you are overlooking the tools available to the scion Malfoy," he remarked, very mildly.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and then the reference seemed to click. "Ah. Yes, of course. Thank you, Father."

Mr. Malfoy inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"What tools?" asked Harry.

"Well, I think Father means the one that will reveal hidden codes in letters. It only works if the letter has been written by a Malfoy." Malfoy smiled, the expression less than sincere. "How very convenient that you are one!"

"Shut up," muttered Harry. 

"Go ahead and write your letter," said Malfoy gaily. "Of course you know that the owls will only carry post for those the scion has authorized. I'm well aware that you tried to send off letters on your own for days at a stretch until it dawned on you that the scion's word is law. Mother, Father, you will be so good as to pass on Harry's post to me should he give it to you, won't you?"

They didn't answer, but then, they didn't have to. Harry wasn't under any delusions. They didn't want the Aurors descending on them, which is what would happen if Harry got to send the letter he wanted.

"I hate you," said Harry flatly. 

"You'll get over it."

"Draco!" scolded Mrs. Malfoy. "Apologize at once."

"Why? What _he_ said was worse--"

"It wasn't worse, not when compared to what you have seen fit to do to Harry," said Mr. Malfoy. 

"But I _had_ to--"

"You can hardly expect Harry to see it that way. Not at this juncture, and quite possibly not ever. Now do as your mother said."

"I'm sorry," said Malfoy, sighing. "I know that you hate me, all right? And I know that you might _not_ get over it."

Harry wasn't sure what to be more shocked at: that the Malfoys had taken his side over their son's--even though they'd done it once before, or that Malfoy could be made to apologize. Without sarcasm.

"I've lost my appetite," he said, flinging his napkin to the table as he stood up. He almost added that he hoped Malfoy would choke on his soup. It wasn't manners that stopped him. 

It was the sheer improbabilty of anyone choking on fucking alphabet soup.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Once he made up upstairs to the little attic room where he liked to sit and think, Harry could have cursed himself for losing his temper. He was supposed to be getting _more_ accustomed to things as they stood, not less!

On the other hand, he'd known when he started this that a certain amount of backsliding would be realistic. Expected, even. So perhaps he hadn't fucked up too badly.

Malfoy was in his room when Harry came back down.

"Feeling better?" he asked mildly.

"Not really."

Malfoy laid aside the broadsheet he'd been reading and regarded Harry with calm, serious eyes. "Maybe you'd be willing to answer a question for me."

Harry almost said, _Maybe I wouldn't_ , but remembered in time that the right note to strike--especially after all the backsliding downstairs--was probably reluctant resignation. "What?"

"You were willing to die to save the world. Why is it so difficult for you to do something minor in comparison now? This time, all you need to do is stay here until . . . until it's time."

Asking when it would be time wouldn't get him anywhere. Malfoy would just say the he couldn't "See" that far yet.

"I did my part," said Harry instead, flopping into a chair, his head aching with the memory of going alone into the forest, readying himself to die. "I'm done."

Malfoy shook his head, his hair swaying a little with the motion. It wasn't long, not like his father's, at any rate, but it wasn't as short as it had been in school, either. "You're not done at all. If you were, you'd have chosen another line of work."

"What other line? Defense is all I was ever good at."

"Says the youngest Quidditch player in a century."

"I want to do something that matters with my life!"

"Yes, I know." Malfoy crossed his ankles. "It's as I said. You still have a part to play and you know it."

"Well, my 'part' has to consist of something that matters more than enhancing your stupid family honor!"

"I said that everything was to do with family honor because I couldn't tell you about what I'd Seen," said Malfoy quietly. "And because it's true that staving off whatever destruction is coming _will_ help restore my family to what it used to be, what it could have been, had Father made better choices. But that's not the main reason I brought you here, Harry. Something terrible is going to happen. I don't know what, and I don't know when, but I do know that it'll make the Dark Lord's reign of terror look like child's play. And I know that the only way to prevent the devastation is for you to be here right now."

"I hope you also know that doesn't make any sense."

"I'm serious!"

"That doesn't mean you're right, though." Harry pinned Malfoy with his gaze. "Look, your entire justification for what you did is that it was necessary. Because you 'See' things. But tell me, Malfoy. What part of the future have you ever Seen that actually came true? What reason do you have to believe that your Seer powers are real at all?"

"I knew that my father would secure an early release from Azkaban."

"Prove it."

"I can't _prove_ it, but I Saw it three months ahead of time. Well, maybe I can prove it. I told Mother about it, and she had the servants open up the rooms we'd closed off to mark his absence. You can ask her about it."

"That could have been nothing more than wishful thinking and a lucky coincidence. What else?"

"I Saw that a late frost would kill the lilacs, so I asked Giles to leave the winter charms in place longer than usual."

"So what you're saying is that a late frost _didn't_ kill your lilacs."

Malfoy glared. "It would have. I told you, the future's not a straight line. It weaves and branches as we go through life, making choices. And _my_ choice is to bring you here so the world won't careen off the edge of destruction!" 

"Well, my choice is to resent the way you've messed about with my life," said Harry wearily.

"You shouldn't. Anybody willing to give up his life for the greater good ought to be willing to give up a wedding."

"Not just a wedding. You want my life, too."

"I'm not asking for your death! It's not the same at all."

"Is that why you chose me, because I was willing to die once? Because I'm an easy mark? The self-sacrificing type?"

"No." Malfoy cleared his throat, looking lost for a moment, like he didn't know what to say. "I don't even want you to be the self-sacrificing type, Harry. And I'd never want any member of my family to be an 'easy mark.' But I knew that in this case, you'd either come here or you'd be dead along with the rest of us."

"But I don't believe that," said Harry. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't have any power to See the future. All you have is that tether, and while I suppose it can keep me here, it can't make me agree with your delusions."

Malfoy leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "What if I could convince you that they weren't delusions? What if I could prove that I know what I'm talking about?"

"You'd have to do a lot more than predict the weather," said Harry dryly.

"Obviously. But what if I _could?_ Would you still hate me for doing what had to be done?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I might. Why do you care if I hate you, though? It didn't bother you when we were at Hogwarts."

"Well, it bothers me now."

"Why?"

Malfoy crossed his arms, Harry noticed. His Auror training told him that meant that Malfoy was feeling defensive, but the Malfoys were strange enough that he wasn't sure the normal rules applied.

"Why?" Harry asked again, only to see Malfoy tense still further.

"You're supposed to trust me," he finally said, a little gruffly, as he looked away.

"I'm supposed to trust you."

Malfoy flicked a glance at him. "Yes."

"Because you're the scion Malfoy?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. Sometimes I think that your trust is a pathway to something else, but . . ." His lips curled. "Impossibilities tend to choke off paths, not open them up. But . . . I do want you to trust me."

"Well, I don't. I can't."

"Which brings us back to my question. What if I can prove that I do See the future? Would you trust me then?"

"I told you, I bloody well don't know!"

"I suppose that means it's worth a try--"

"You can't prove it anyway," said Harry scornfully. "Anything that you predict that comes true would just be coincidence. Or worse, some manipulated form of reality. If you've got a special scion tool that can reveal codes, there's no telling what else you can make happen."

"Ah, but you're an Auror, trained to investigate suspicious magical doings."

"Fine then," snapped Harry. "Predict something!"

"It doesn't come on command, I'm afraid." Malfoy gave him what looked like a tentative smile. "Why don't you spend the day with me tomorrow and we'll see how it goes? That's not to say I'll sense any sort of revelation, but . . . I never do know when I will."

"I don't want to spend the day with you."

"I know. But I also know a little bit about the way you think. If I arrive at dinner tomorrow night with some startling prediction, you're just going to believe I spent the day manipulating reality to make it come true."

All too accurate.

"The only way you'll believe anything I See is if you're with me to make sure I'm playing fair with you," said Malfoy in a wheedling voice. "Now, this might take longer than a day, but . . . you aren't otherwise occupied, are you? Father mentioned you haven't been terribly keen to duel him again."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "There's more going on than you're saying. You _want_ me to spend time with you, and not just so I can see that you See."

"Of course I want you to spend time with me." Malfoy raised his chin a little. "However, you made your opinion of the tether rather clear, so I was hardly going to force the issue. Now, though, if you have a reason not to avoid me so much . . . ."

"Why?"

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "So that you can see that I See, as you put it."

"No, why would you want me to spend time with you?"

"Are you daft? I'm the scion Malfoy and you're the newest member of my family. I don't know you nearly as well as I ought."

"So it's a family thing?"

"What else would it be?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I look at you and all I can think is that there's some kind of Slytherin plot. Like, you're trying to ferret out my weaknesses, you want to . . . I don't know."

"Harry," said Malfoy, and waited until Harry looked at him. "I told you weeks ago that I wanted to get to know you better. It was true then, and it's true now. There's no plot afoot, other than me trying to figure out what the future wants from us. We're both involved somehow in preventing catastrophe -- I just don't yet know how. And for the record, if I do 'ferret' out any of your weaknesses, I'll do my best to help you overcome them."

"Why?"

The other man's eyes flickered with something. Annoyance? Compassion? It seemed a strange mixture of them both. "You're a Malfoy. I would never want you to be weak."

Something about the way he said that made goosebumps raise themselves on Harry's arms. He couldn't stand the feeling that Malfoy might be sincere. It was too foreign, the idea that he could be, that he _was_ part of a family now. "Must be a hard thing for you to get used to," he jeered. "The idea that you don't want me to be weak."

Compassion gave way to annoyance, and then that fell away to reveal nothing but cool appraisal. "Not at all. I've felt this way for years. As soon as I understood that Father had made a terrible mistake in following the Dark Lord, I knew I wanted you to be strong as you could possibly be."

"That's why you didn't identify me."

"And that's why I stopped Crabbe from trying to kill you."

Harry stared at Malfoy for a long while, and finally said, "I saved you from the Fiendfyre. You owe me a life debt."

"Not so. Only Snape's intervention prevented my death at your hands the year before. The one cancels out the other."

And if Malfoy _had_ owed Harry a life debt, he'd paid it already, by saving Harry from his father's own _Sectumsempra_.

"All right," he said, making sure he sounded grudging. It wasn't too difficult to accomplish. "I'll spend the day with you tomorrow. And after that . . . we'll see."

"Excellent." Malfoy flicked his wand to turn down the bed. One more flick and a fluffy pillow landed in the middle of it. He didn't say the obvious -- that there was no point in trying to stay separate. Harry woke up in his arms every morning without fail no matter how many pillows were piled between them. "I'll shower first tonight, unless you have an objection?"

"I have an objection to sharing a bed with you. That doesn't seem to matter."

Malfoy didn't reply, perhaps because they'd been through all this before.

"Go on and have your shower then."

When he heard the water running, Harry headed for the bedroom door, only to be pulled back by the tether. Well, he'd known it was too good to be true. Once it was time for bed, Malfoy never let him wander off.

Sighing, he flopped back into his chair and listlessly summoned some magazines he could see lying on a shelf. He didn't expect to find them very scintillating, wizarding high finance not being much of an interest to him, for all he had a vault full of gold.

The top magazine was as boring as he'd expected, but the three underneath it? Harry raised both his eyebrows, wondering why on earth Malfoy would have back issues of _Aurors in Danger_ lying about. It wasn't like the stories would be useful in discovering how to evade Aurors or anything like that. They were fictional accounts of the exploits of the "brave witches and wizards of MLE."

They were probably Harry's favorite recreational reading, Quidditch magazines having palled some years earlier.

Well, no matter why Malfoy had them, Harry decided he could enjoy them.

He settled back in his chair and began reading "The Case of the Three-Eyed Trumpet."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"A Portkey," said Harry flatly the next morning after breakfast. "Those are illegal."

"Oh, you think I spelled it myself?" Malfoy's eyes glimmered with good humour. "How very flattering."

Harry glared at the candy wrapper. "Your father, then."

"This one was issued by the Ministry, and if you doubt my word, which I can see you do, you can check that for yourself once you're back at work."

Damn straight Harry would check that for himself. He wasn't about to take Malfoy's word about anything. He also wasn't about to leave it there. "Why would the Ministry issue the likes of you a Portkey?"

"Why wouldn't they? I'm a British wizarding citizen in good standing, thanks in no small part to your kind intervention at my trial."

"If I'd known you were going to sabotage my whole life, I'd have let you rot in Azkaban."

"No, you wouldn't. You're too noble."

Strange that a comment like that wouldn't have been sneered, thought Harry. "Why the Portkey, though?"

"It activates every Wednesday to allow me to pursue my philanthropic work, something the Department of Worthy Deeds wholeheartedly supports--"

"There's no Department of Worthy Deeds!"

"My apologies," said Malfoy smoothly. "That's a pet name of mine. I grew tired of saying the 'Department for the Promotion and Support of Wizarding Charitable Institutions and Efforts.'"

There really _was_ a department by that name, Harry knew. And they could indeed issue Portkeys.

Harry stared at the candy wrapper, all argument forgotten as the only thought that mattered began clanging through his mind. The Portkey might take them literally anywhere, but all those places had one thing in common.

_They were outside Malfoy Manor._

Outside the wards, away from the protection spells that kept servants from gossiping or carrying items in and out. Harry had tried everything by then. Even a message inked onto a sous-chef's hand -- like the pebble Giles had accidentally brought outside the wards, that had triggered that anti-theft spells and led to a very embarrassing incident for the sous-chef and Harry alike, since he'd been called into Malfoy's imposing office to witness the results of his attempt to get a message out.

Harry hadn't tried anything since. He'd been too unwilling to subject another human being to possible humiliation.

But with this Portkey . . . he could go to a place where people's memories didn't vanish every night when they went home. Maybe even, a place with parchment, ink, and owls.

Of course, Malfoy had the tether, so maybe owling off a plea for help wasn't so practical, but what was to stop Harry from screaming his head off the instant they landed, something along the lines of "I'm Harry Potter! I'm being held captive in Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, United Kingdom!"

"If you care to come with me, you'll need to put your hand on the Portkey in the next five seconds," said Malfoy, glancing over Harry's shoulder to the grandfather clock behind him.

Harry grabbed the Portkey and held onto it for all he was worth.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The transit seemed to take forever, spinning and flying through air which grew progressively warmer. Harry was ready to vomit by the time it was over, but perhaps that was because he hadn't liked Portkey travel since the end of fourth year.

Ready to vomit or not, Harry wasted no time in putting his plan into action. The moment they touched down, even while he was still stumbling from the shock of solid earth beneath his feet at last, he shook off Malfoy's supporting arm and started yelling as loudly as he possibly could. "I'm Harry Potter and I've been kidnapped against my will! I'm being held prisoner in Wiltshire, United Kingdom, in Malfoy Manor!"

He got through it three times in a row before he noticed that there was nobody around to hear him. 

"Finished?" asked Malfoy calmly when Harry finally stopped.

"Fuck you."

They had landed on an expanse of what looked like sparse grassland, and wherever they were, it was _hot_. Harry tugged at his collar for a moment before it occurred to him to transfigure his clothes instead. Before drawing his wand, though, he looked more carefully around them. No, nobody in sight.

"Of course not," said Malfoy, his own wand already out and working to transform his robes, shirt, and trousers into something that reminded Harry, vaguely, of _Crocodile Dundee_. 

"We're in Australia?"

Malfoy gave him an odd look, like he had no idea where that theory had come from. "Africa. Burkina Faso, to be exact. It's convenient since there's no time change."

Oh. Right. If they'd gone all the way to Australia then there was no way it would still look like late morning.

"So you Portkeyed out into the middle of nowhere so that nobody could hear me screaming," said Harry bitterly. "And this is where you do your Seer rituals, something like that?"

Another odd look. "I told you it was philanthropic work I was doing here."

"No, you told me that the Ministry issued you the Portkey so you could do some philanthropic work."

"And you, of course, assumed that I lied, making the Portkey illegal even though it's Ministry-issued. Haven't you listened to a word I've said? I want to restore my family's reputation! The current scion languishing in prison isn't exactly conducive to that end!"

"So you _did_ come here to do philanthropic work?"

"Every Wednesday," said Malfoy shortly. "And the Portkey is set to land me here so the International Statute of Secrecy can be upheld. Though I dare say there may be some animals beginning to get strange ideas about humans."

"Will we see any humans?"

"So you can scream you've been kidnapped?" jeered Malfoy. "Why, yes, we will. And do feel free to go right ahead with the hysterics. It won't bother me a whit."

Harry peered at him, trying to figure that one out.

Malfoy gave him a haughty look. "Now, if you're ready, we have a somewhat long walk-- oh, for Merlin's sake. Transfigure a hat, Harry! It's easy to get sunstroke out here."

"But what are we doing out here?"

"I _told_ you. Worthy deeds." Malfoy sighed. "At some point you're going to have to start to trust me."

"No, I'm not."

Malfoy flicked his wand, lengthening the brim of Harry's hat. "There, that's better." He adjusted his own hat to shade his pale skin better, then transfigured a couple of canteens from stray blades of grass. _Aguamenti_ soon had them brimming with water.

Malfoy handed one to Harry. "I was serious about the Statute. Don't do any more magic here unless there's some danger to life and limb. I'd don't want my Portkey revoked."

He tucked his wand away and waited pointedly for Harry to do the same.

Then he led the way toward a small copse of trees on the horizon.

oOoOoOoOoOo

As soon as Malfoy began walking away, Harry thrust his hand into the pocket of his safari pants, gripped hard, and tried to Apparate. Any such attempt was useless when he'd been trapped behind the wards of Malfoy Manor, which restricted the comings and goings of wizards according to the will of the scion. But here, in Burkina Faso, there was nothing to stop him from leaving except the tether -- and in this strange environment, with Malfoy's back turned, Harry had to hope that the other man's concentration was off for once.

He heard a loud _pop_ in his ears, but no narrow tube opened up to swallow him. In fact, a force he couldn't resist drove him to his knees. 

And then his stomach started roiling with the force of an Apparition gone wrong.

"What part of 'tether' do you not comprehend?" asked Malfoy as he whirled around. He blinked when he saw Harry on his knees. "What's the matter?"

Harry couldn't answer. He was too busy leaning to the side and throwing up the fruit and waffles he'd had for breakfast that morning. When he finished he took the canteen Malfoy held out and splashed some water into his mouth, spitting it out before he rinsed his hands. He'd rather have swallowed some, but he didn't want to risk putting anything on his stomach yet.

"Trying to Apparate against the tether should not make you ill," said Malfoy, shaking his head. "You must be coming down with something. Much as I'd hate to miss today's festivities, I suppose I'd better take you home and take care of you--"

"Not sick," gasped Harry, his stomach threatening to go into dry heaves.

Thankfully, he was spared that indignity. It was bad enough he'd thrown up in front of Malfoy.

"You aren't vomiting for no reason at all," said Malfoy dryly. "But no matter. My return Portkey is voice activated. I'll have you tucked up in bed in no time--"

"Malfoy, I'm able to speak for myself," snapped Harry, managing to rise to his feet. He felt shaky, but he could handle it. "Your asinine child-adoption ritual did not make me a child, and I'll thank you to treat me like the full-grown man I am."

"But--" Malfoy took a step closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of Harry's clenched jaw. "What made you so ill, then? Wizards don't suddenly vomit for no reason at all."

"I was feeling rough already, all right?"

"No, it's not all right. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I was fine until we Portkeyed." Harry sighed. "I don't like Portkeys. They always make me feel a little bit off. Probably the associations."

"Associations?" Malfoy's forehead suddenly smoothed out. "Oh. Of course."

He looked like he'd heard about the events in the cemetery in some detail. Harry didn't have to guess who had told him. "I'm fine. Let's just keep walking . . . did you say festivities? What on earth are we here for?"

"A celebration, I hope," murmured Malfoy. "Are you sure you're ready to move on? I could conjure you a chair; I don't think anybody's in the vicinity."

Harry ignored him and started walking in the direction they'd been going before.

"I hope it's clear now that the tether won't let you Apparate," said Malfoy as he came abreast of Harry, walking at his side. "It wouldn't be much good if it would."

"Fuck off."

Malfoy ignored that. "Unfortunately, we'll have to Portkey to return home, but we can wait until you're feeling stronger--"

"I'm not a weakling," grated Harry. "I just don't care for it."

"You're certainly not a weakling, but that is a weakness. What if you had to Portkey into a tense situation against Dark wizards? Would you be at your very best the moment you landed, or would you need a moment to recover?"

Harry knew he had a point, but he didn't want to talk about it. Or think about it. "How did you get a voice-activated Portkey for your return trips? The last I heard, the Ministry didn't like to issue those."

"I told them, quite truthfully," he added, "that it would be impossible to guarantee that I'd be alone when any timed Portkey activated. You'll see. The people here have a different culture and it's not always feasible to announce you're leaving and make it happen."

Harry gave a sharp nod and lengthened his stride, partly to show that he was fine and partly to put some distance between himself and Malfoy.

He might as well not have bothered, since Malfoy merely increased his pace to keep up.

He seemed to sense Harry's desire for solitude, though, since he finally shut up.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry heard the whirr of a mechanical device long before any human voices reached him.

Malfoy flashed him a broad smile. "Oh, good. Everything appears to be on schedule."

" _What_ schedule?"

"It appears the well-drilling crew from Ougaboudou must have arrived. Nothing else in the village would make such a racket."

"You're drilling a well?" Harry stopped walking and glared. "Aren't you rich enough already? And what happened to the idea of worthy deeds, anyway? I don't think it qualifies to drive the people here from their homes so you can wreck the landscape and destroy precious habitat while you rake in a fat profit!"

"That sounds like one of Hermione Granger's environmental rants," said Malfoy coolly. 

Harry flushed. So what if it was? 

"And for your information, I am drilling -- or rather, funding the drilling of -- a _water_ well. Did you know that dysentery is a serious problem for much of the Muggle world? They can't create clean water like we can, and people that are forced to resort to surface sources often have no choice but to drink tainted water. I'm doing what I can to help." 

He lifted his chin like he was expecting an argument.

A water well? Oh . . . but how was Harry supposed to have known? "Don't they boil their water to make it safe to drink, though?"

"That's an impractical solution in the long term. Free time and fuel are limiting factors." He sped up walking again. "Come on, let's see how it's going this time."

"This time?"

"Mmm, this'll be the fourth village I work with."

At that, Harry felt worse than ever about his oil well assumption. "It must be expensive."

"I have the funds." Malfoy's eyes flashed. "And _no_ , I'm not simply purchasing a ready-made worthy deed. I scouted the well location with the village elders and spent more days than I care to recall in Ougaboudou hiring contractors and I always help with what I can on site in the village. It's not my fault I've no expertise in the actual drilling or installing the pump or wiring solar electrical panels!"

"You sound like you wish you could do those things," said Harry mildly.

Draco snorted. "I wish I could install the well with magic, if you must know. But that wouldn't be very worthy, as deeds go. The Seer magic likes to see me get my hands dirty. I'm lucky I was allows to use magic to fill in the dungeons. But then, that was solving a wizarding problem and this time I'm helping Muggles, so . . . ." He lifted his shoulders.

"I actually wasn't thinking that you were buying your way into more power," Harry said after a moment. "I just meant, you must be spending a lot of money. It's admirable, even if your motive is more about yourself than about the people here."

"Invisible hand," murmured Malfoy. "Should I leave the people here to suffer from dysentery merely because in helping them, I'll also help myself?"

"Well, no, but it would be better if you have more selfless motives."

Malfoy smiled a little grimly. "But don't you see, Harry? Nobody has truly selfless motives. Even the most noble philanthopist in the world is getting something for his trouble, even if it's only acclaim for that very selflessness. And _anyway_ , Seeing is a light talent. If the magic wants me to put down clean water wells in Burkina Faso, I don't really think it's your place to disagree. It's not as though I'm following the impulses of the Dark."

Harry nodded. He might have kept arguing but by then the noise of the well-drilling rig was deafening. Malfoy had had to shout his last few words.

 


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Malfoy began walking away, Harry thrust his hand into the pocket of his safari pants, gripped hard, and tried to Apparate. Any such attempt was useless when he'd been trapped behind the wards of Malfoy Manor, which restricted the comings and goings of wizards according to the will of the scion. But here, in Burkina Faso, there was nothing to stop him from leaving except the tether -- and in this strange environment, with Malfoy's back turned, Harry had to hope that the other man's concentration was off for once.

He heard a loud _pop_ in his ears, but no narrow tube opened up to swallow him. In fact, a force he couldn't resist drove him to his knees. 

And then his stomach started roiling with the force of an Apparition gone wrong.

"What part of 'tether' do you not comprehend?" asked Malfoy as he whirled around. He blinked when he saw Harry on his knees. "What's the matter?"

Harry couldn't answer. He was too busy leaning to the side and throwing up the fruit and waffles he'd had for breakfast that morning. When he finished he took the canteen Malfoy held out and splashed some water into his mouth, spitting it out before he rinsed his hands. He'd rather have swallowed some, but he didn't want to risk putting anything on his stomach yet.

"Trying to Apparate against the tether should not make you ill," said Malfoy, shaking his head. "You must be coming down with something. Much as I'd hate to miss today's festivities, I suppose I'd better take you home and take care of you--"

"Not sick," gasped Harry, his stomach threatening to go into dry heaves.

Thankfully, he was spared that indignity. It was bad enough he'd thrown up in front of Malfoy.

"You aren't vomiting for no reason at all," said Malfoy dryly. "But no matter. My return Portkey is voice activated. I'll have you tucked up in bed in no time--"

"Malfoy, I'm able to speak for myself," snapped Harry, managing to rise to his feet. He felt shaky, but he could handle it. "Your asinine child-adoption ritual did not make me a child, and I'll thank you to treat me like the fully grown man I am."

"But--" Malfoy took a step closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of Harry's clenched jaw. "What made you so ill, then? Wizards don't suddenly vomit for no reason at all."

"I was feeling rough already, all right?"

"No, it's not all right. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I was fine until we Portkeyed." Harry sighed. "I don't like Portkeys. They always make me feel a little bit off. Probably the associations."

"Associations?" Malfoy's forehead suddenly smoothed out. "Oh. Of course."

He looked like he'd heard about the events in the cemetery in some detail. Harry didn't have to guess who had told him. "I'm fine," he insisted. Anything was better than going back behind the wards at Malfoy Manor. "Let's just keep walking . . . did you say festivities? What on earth are we here for?"

"A celebration, I hope," murmured Malfoy. "Are you sure you're ready to move on? I could conjure you a chair; I don't think anybody's in the vicinity."

Harry ignored him and started walking in the direction they'd been going before.

"I hope it's clear now that the tether won't let you Apparate," said Malfoy as he came abreast of Harry, walking at his side. "It wouldn't be much good if it would."

"Fuck off."

Malfoy ignored that. "Unfortunately, we'll have to Portkey to return home, but we can wait until you're feeling stronger--"

"I'm not a weakling," grated Harry. "I just don't care for it."

"You're certainly not a weakling, but that is a weakness. What if you had to Portkey into a tense situation against Dark wizards? Would you be at your very best the moment you landed, or would you need a moment to recover?"

Harry knew he had a point, but he didn't want to talk about it. Or think about it. "How did you get a voice-activated Portkey for your return trips? The last I heard, the Ministry didn't like to issue those."

"I told them, quite truthfully," he said with a wry glance at Harry, "that it would be impossible to guarantee I'd be alone when any timed Portkey activated. You'll see. The people here have a different culture and it's not always feasible to announce you're leaving and make it happen."

Harry gave a sharp nod and lengthened his stride, partly to show that he was fine and partly to put some distance between himself and Malfoy.

He might as well not have bothered, since Malfoy merely increased his pace to keep up.

He seemed to sense Harry's desire for solitude, though, since he finally shut up.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry heard the whirr of a mechanical device long before any human voices reached him.

Malfoy flashed him a broad smile. "Oh, good. Everything appears to be on schedule."

" _What_ schedule?"

"It appears the well-drilling crew from Ouagadougou must have arrived. Nothing else in the village would make such a racket."

"You're drilling a well?" Harry stopped walking and glared. "Aren't you rich enough already? And what happened to the idea of worthy deeds, anyway? I don't think it qualifies to drive the people here from their homes so you can wreck the landscape and destroy precious habitat while you rake in a fat profit!"

"That sounds like one of Hermione Granger's environmental rants," said Malfoy coolly. 

Harry flushed. So what if it was? 

"And for your information, I am drilling -- or rather, funding the drilling of -- a _water_ well. Did you know that dysentery is a serious problem in much of the Muggle world? They can't conjure clean water like we can, and people that are forced to resort to surface sources often have no choice but to drink tainted water. I'm doing what I can to help." 

He lifted his chin like he was expecting an argument.

A water well? Oh . . . but how was Harry supposed to have known? "Don't they boil their water to make it safe to drink, though?"

"That's an impractical solution in the long term. Free time and fuel are limiting factors." He sped up walking again. "Come on, let's see how it's going this time."

"This time?"

"Mmm, this is the fourth village I've worked with."

At that, Harry felt worse than ever about his oil well assumption. "It must be expensive."

"I have the funds." Malfoy's eyes flashed. "And _no_ , I'm not simply purchasing a ready-made worthy deed. I scouted the well location with the village elders and spent more days than I care to recall in Ouagadougou hiring contractors and I always help with what I can on site in the village. It's not my fault I've no expertise in the actual drilling or installing the pump or wiring solar electrical panels!"

"You sound like you wish you could do those things," said Harry mildly.

Draco snorted. "I wish I could install the well with magic, if you must know. But that wouldn't be very worthy, as deeds go. The Seer powers like to see me get my hands dirty. I'm lucky I was allowed to use magic to fill in the dungeons. But then, that was solving a wizarding problem and this time I'm helping Muggles, so . . . ." He lifted his shoulders.

"I actually wasn't thinking that you were buying your way into more power," Harry said after a moment. "I just meant, you must be spending a lot of money. It's admirable, even if your motive is more about yourself than about the people here."

"Invisible hand," murmured Malfoy. "Should I leave the people here to suffer from dysentery merely because in helping them, I'll also help myself?"

"Well, no, but it would be better for you to have more selfless motives."

Malfoy smiled a little grimly. "But don't you see, Harry? Nobody has truly selfless motives. Even the most noble philanthopist in the world is getting something for his trouble, even if it's only acclaim for that very selflessness. And _anyway_ , Seeing is a light talent. If the magic wants me to provide clean water to the Muggles in Burkina Faso, I don't really think it's your place to disagree. It's not as though I'm following the impulses of the Dark."

Harry might have kept arguing but by then the noise of the well-drilling rig was deafening. Malfoy had had to shout his last few words. They were close enough now that he could see some people standing about. Workmen wearing hardhats, mostly. They looked African -- no surprise, of course -- but it suddenly struck Harry that most of Africa had been colonized by Britain at one time. Hadn't it? It seemed like it, from long-ago lessons he'd had in school. Things he barely remembered, but a map did come to mind. Africa, with great huge splotches of color thrown across it, marking the British Empire . . .

"They're going to have to turn the machine off sooner or later," he yelled at Malfoy.

Malfoy's eyebrows drew together a bit. "I would think so!"

Harry almost grinned at Malfoy's bafflement, but his elation was short-lived. A few moments later, when they were almost abreast of the towering drilling rig, it wasn't quite turned off, but it was switched over to some setting that was much less loud. Harry opened his mouth to announce his captive status again, but another babble of noise startled him before he could form the first word.

" _Monsieur Malfoy,_ " said a workman wearing a hardhat with some kind of emblem on the front. The rest of the babble of French was lost on Harry, who of course couldn't catch a single word. He was lucky he'd recognized _Monsieur_. That was about as much French as he'd ever learnt.

Once over his startlement, Harry tried anyway. "Can somebody here put me in touch with the local authorities?" he said, speaking loudly enough for his words to carry across the whole clearing. "Because this man here, Malfoy, has brought me here against my will and--"

"You are such a _liar_ , Harry," said Malfoy pleasantly. "You came with me this morning of your own volition." He added something in French to the workman he'd been conversing with.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy's comment caused a general round of nods, after which another workman stepped forward and beckoned him with a curling hand, repeating some phrase over and over that Harry could only guess was French for "Come with me," or "This way," or some such.

"I told them that your rude interruption is to be excused on account of your urgent need for a toilet," Malfoy announced, his bland expression doing very little to disguise his glittering eyes. "Not that you'll find one with a pull chain here. But after your months camping across Britain, I imagine you'll know how to make do. Souleymane has volunteered to show you where the local facilities are."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I'm supposed to believe that nobody in Burkina Faso speaks anything but French? Right."

"Certainly not. If you've any Mòoré or Bambara, please do feel free to screech for help again."

Harry yelled that time, loudly enough to be heard in the small collection of houses he could see a short distance beyond the drilling rig, which as far as he could tell, was idling at the moment. "Nobody here speaks English? Does anybody here speak English?"

"Of course they don't," said Malfoy calmly. "Bad luck for you, eh? Considering that on average, a quarter of Burkinabes could understand you. But nobody here appears to. My, my, my. What _are_ the odds?"

"You aren't," said Harry through gritted teeth, "supposed to work magic on Muggles, Malfoy! I'll have to report this, assuming you ever let me get back to my job!"

"I didn't work magic on them. I'm a law-abiding citizen, I'll have you know." Malfoy grinned. "I charmed a rock."

"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts!"

"Since when is a rock a Muggle artifact?" Malfoy tilted his head a little as the man with the emblem on his helmet said something in French. "Oh. Apparently Souleymane is needed to help attach the next section of drill bit, so the foreman of the work crew is inquiring whether you need the toilet or not." He lowered his voice, speaking almost conspiratorially. "If I were you, I'd go with him. Otherwise it's going to be hard to explain why your need was so urgent that you had to scream about it. But then, you aren't going to be explaining anything, are you? _Pas de français, 'arry._ "

He made Harry's name at the end sound the way Fleur still pronounced it, even after all this time.

Harry smiled at the man named Souleymane. It wasn't his fault that Malfoy was an utter prick. "Tell him that I'll find it on my own."

Malfoy rattled off some smooth-sounding phrases, then neatly caught something and held it out to Harry.

A roll of toilet paper.

"Customary here to bring your own each time you go," said Malfoy glibly.

Harry snatched it and stomped off in a random direction, wondering how far the tether would let him wander before it pulled him up short.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was sitting on the stoop of a small circular house made of clay when Malfoy found him. As far as Harry could tell, nobody lived here. Certainly, nobody had wandered over to tell him that he was trespassing.

But maybe they wouldn't. He was obviously here with Malfoy, who was clearly the village hero.

As well he should be, Harry grudgingly admitted. A well to supply clean water from now on . . . well, that was nothing to sneeze at.

Malfoy sat down on the stoop next to Harry. "You look pale. Are you still feeling a little off?"

"I'm fine," said Harry shortly, even though his stomach wasn't a hundred percent yet. Malfoy didn't need to know about it. "And you're a fine one to accuse anybody else of being pale."

Malfoy sighed. "Can't we have a truce for a day, Harry? I got you out of the manor where you were going stir-crazy, and since you haven't been to Africa before, can't you treat this as an adventure? I thought that Gryffindors were all in favor of those."

Normally Harry would be happy to treat this as an aventure, but . . . "We're out of your fucking manor but not that much has changed. You're still my captor."

"No," said Malfoy gently. "I'm your brother."

"Some brother! You wrecked my wedding!"

"Yes, I wrecked your wedding." Malfoy pointed at a heavyset woman in the distance. She was holding a small child by each hand, and together, the three of them were watching the drilling rig do its work. "But _she_ has watched three of her other children die from drinking tainted water. Can't you forget your own problems for a day and focus on helping the people here?"

Harry didn't appreciate the holier-than-thou tone. "Oh, like you care so much about helping them. All you want is to convince the Light to let you See farther!"

"So that I can help avert the destruction of the world," added Malfoy in sardonic tones. "Yes, that is _so_ selfish of me."

"You only want that so that your family will be forgiven for all the disgusting things they've done!"

"Such as refusing to identify you, and lying to the Dark Lord's face, and stopping Crabbe from killing you? Those disgusting things?" Malfoy hit his own knee with a clenched fist. "Damn it, Harry! So the family stands to benefit if I can find away to veer the world away from the wilderness of despair. So _what_? The world still gets saved, and you'll get most of the credit anyway! I've known that much from the first!"

"What do you mean, I'll get the credit? Because you're going to blab to everyone that I'm a Malfoy?"

"No, because you'll deserve the credit." Malfoy gave him a sour look. "The entire universe of magic revolves around you. Do you really think I don't know that much by now?"

He didn't sound sarcastic. In fact, he sounded so serious that a chill shot up Harry's spine.

"Why will I deserve the credit?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Because when it matters you're going to do something. Or _not_ do something. I can't tell which, yet. All I really know is that it won't come out right unless you trust me. And clearly, _that's_ not going to happen in this lifetime, so I don't know why I bother drilling wells. A little clean water won't make any difference to these people when the cataclysm comes--"

"The clean water's good," said Harry, a little shaken despite himself. Despite the fact that he didn't believe in Malfoy's Seer abilities. "But if trust is what matters most in all this, why did you ruin my wedding and turn me into a prisoner? You can hardly be surprised that I don't trust you after stunts like those."

Malfoy passed a hand over his eyes. "It was the only path forward. Really, Harry. I know you don't believe me, but I could See that much spelled out for me in a way it would be impossible to miss. It was the only thing I could See clearly . . . that if you married Ginny Weasley, nothing else would matter. _Nothing._ And so it didn't matter what I had to do to stop it." Malfoy gulped. "I know I hurt you, but there wasn't anything else to do. If you had finished your vows, every path leading away from despair was going to vanish. Forever."

For once, hearing Malfoy say her name didn't fill Harry with rage. Maybe because he wasn't claiming now that Ginny didn't love him, or that the marriage wouldn't have worked out. He wasn't pretending that he hadn't hurt Harry -- he was admitting that he had. 

"But why would my marrying Ginny have closed off all the other paths?" he asked, wanting to understand more. Not about the future, of course. He still didn't believe Malfoy knew much about it. But he did want to understand the other man's mindset.

"Oh, simple." Malfoy gave him a tremulous smile. "Because of what I said before. Nothing comes out right unless you can bring yourself to trust me. The Weasleys and the Malfoys . . . you know about the old enmity, I think. And you're the type to be loyal. If you'd married, you would have heeded your wife's warnings when she whispered in your ear at night. We'd never have been able to become close at all."

Harry blinked, not so much because that all made sense, though it did, but because something else had just clicked in his brain. "Is that what sleeping in your room is all about? Becoming close, so I can learn to trust you?"

"Yes, but it's not some plot _I_ hatched." Another tremulous smile. "It's just . . . I Saw that I was supposed to proceed that way. And it's our room, not mine--"

" _Monsieur Malfoy! Monsieur Malfoy!_ " shouted a young boy, perhaps eight years old, running like a demon was chasing him as he called out a babble of French words so fast they sounded like they were tripping over one another.

Malfoy jumped to his feet and almost whooped. That startled Harry, but it was nothing to the shock he felt when Malfoy swept the boy up in a hug and whirled around and around with him, the two of them laughing and jabbering away at each other in a torrent of French.

Happy French, clearly.

Two more things were just as clear. One, the drillers must have struck water, and two . . . Malfoy was delighted about that for its own sake, not just for what it might mean to him as he tried to develop more Seer powers.

"Three hundred twelve feet," gasped Malfoy as he set the boy down, ruffling the top of his head before the boy ran off to join in the celebration Harry could hear gathering force on the far side of the village. "Fifty six liters a second--"

"That's good, then?"

Malfoy laughed. "I don't think in liters! But, um . . . it's more per second than two of the other three wells I've seen put down. Come on, come _on_ \-- we have to go and dance in the rain!"

"Dance in the rain?"

"It's traditional!" Malfoy didn't say anything else. He just grabbed Harry's hand and tugged, pulling Harry to his feet and then running with him across the uneven ground toward the noise of splashing water mixed with shouts of jubilation.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The whole village joined in the celebration, and "dancing in the rain" wasn't a bad description of it. Men, women, and children alike screamed with glee as water showered down, and Harry lost count of the number of total strangers who grabbed and hugged both himself and Malfoy. Clearly, they were regarded as some kind of a team even though Malfoy had been alone the other times he must have visited this village to discuss the project or pick out a site for the drilling or whatever.

The artificial rain cut off as suddenly as it had begun.

Alarmed, Harry grasped Malfoy's forearm. "The well's gone dry, already?"

He couldn't imagine why Malfoy would look so pleased at that question.

"No, that's not it. The crew were pumping water down into the hole to test it, and they've finished, that's all."

It was only then that Harry realized what the huge tanker truck must be for. He'd somehow assumed it was full of gasoline to power the well-drilling rig, but apparently it had been full of the water required to get the job done. "Oh. But if they were pumping water _into_ the hole, how do they know they reached water?"

"Rates of flow." Malfoy grinned. "I don't understand it completely myself, but I've seen enough wells put in that I trust the experts."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "They're Muggles."

"Yes, and I trust them to do this job right," said Malfoy firmly, just before he began rubbing his hands together. "Now comes the part where I get to feel like I'm useful for more than just the financing. You can help out if you're feeling strong enough, but if you're still a little woozy there's no reason why you shouldn't--"

"I'm helping," Harry said, cutting him off. "What do we do?"

That was how Harry and Malfoy ended up carrying huge sections of pipe to the well site while the crew worked on pulling up hundreds of feet of drill bit, section by section, each part unscrewed and laid to the side for Harry and Malfoy to carry back to a flatbed truck. 

It was heavy labor, literally, and Harry was more than a little surprised by Malfoy's willingness to do it. But then, he'd just seen the man spend ten minutes getting hugged by Muggles and hugging them back, and that told Harry one thing:

He didn't know Malfoy as well as he'd thought.

oOoOoOoOoOo

By late afternoon, all the pipe sections had been put down the well. Harry thought that meant the job was finished, but when he said as much, Malfoy laughed. "Yes, the well is complete, but without a pump, all that lovely clean water is going to stay a hundred feet underground."

"I thought you said three hundred."

Malfoy stretched, his dirty and sweat-stained shirt stretching tautly across his chest for a moment. "That's how far we had to drill to strike water. But once you hit the underground pool of it, pressure down there forces it up the hole. Which is a good thing, believe me. Putting a pump down three hundred feet would be a lot of work."

Installing the pump meant carrying over shorter sections of smaller pipe. These were screwed together as they were fed down the well hole, the pump attached to the end. There were wires involved at this stage, too -- Harry was put in charge of keeping them from getting tangled in the workers' feet as they worked to put the pump down the well.

The farther down it went, the heavier the whole assembly became, until Malfoy was swearing a blue streak as he worked with the other men to hold it in place while yet another section of thick metal pipe was attached.

Finally it was done, the pump-and-pipe assembly securely bolted to a top plate that would cover the top of the well.

"I don't suppose you know any wandless healing spells," said Malfoy as he flexed his upper arms. " _Ouch_ , that's sore. The worst bit is the mental stress, though. You know that if you don't hang on well enough, the pump'll slip and fall hundreds of feet. Which means you'll have to start all over again with a new pump. I swear that knowing all that makes each section of pipe weigh ten times as much as it ought--"

"You should have let me do more than unwind wires from gigantic spools--"

"I told you, to help lower the pump, you have to be able to react to instructions instantly, and since you don't know any French--"

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry, but he still felt bad. Bad enough, in fact, to offer, "Um, I guess we can't use magic, but I could, um, give you a bit of a rub-down. If you like--"

"Would you?" Malfoy beamed and doffed his shirt without another word, presenting Harry with a broad expanse of muscled back. It was nothing that Harry hadn't seen before, but now, knowing that Malfoy had got at least some of those muscles doing honest work instead of just working out in the private gym in his manor . . .

It made some kind of difference.

Even if part of Malfoy's reason for being here was selfish. There was more to it than that.

"We should move into the shade, you'll get burnt--"

"No, the sun's waning by now." Malfoy stretched, the muscles in his back rippling. "Well?"

Right. The rub-down. Harry wasn't sure why he was having trouble getting started. By then, he was wishing he'd never offered. Except, he wasn't really wishing that, not when it would mean leaving Malfoy sore. That wasn't right, after the way the man had worked so hard, hour after hour of it, and never once a complaint, though maybe Harry had that last bit wrong considering that there could have been complaints aplenty in French, and--

" _Well?_ "

Harry clouted him on the side of the head, but gently. "Prat."

Somehow that got him past his hesitation, though. Harry put both his palms on Malfoy's shoulders and was startled when the other man dropped to his knees straight away.

"For leverage," Malfoy murmured, arching his neck to the side. The taut muscles there looked in need of a rub, so Harry started there, leaning heavily into the massage when Malfoy's moans indicated that a lot of pressure would be a good thing.

"Merlin," gasped Malfoy. "That's-- Yes, just there-- Mmm . . ."

He sounded so orgasmic about it that Harry almost snorted. But he thought it would be poor form to make fun, so he just kept on with the backrub until the muscles beneath his fingers unknotted completely. "There. All done."

"Grand." Malfoy yawned. "You have bloody marvelous hands. I usually have to make do with some local herbal concoction to dull the pain."

"They don't work?"

Harry was braced for some scathing commentary about Muggles, but instead Malfoy said, "Too well. Apparently when it comes to herbs, there's a fine line between pain relief and minor hallucinogens." He suddenly jumped to his feet and pulled his shirt on, though he did make a face at the state it was in. "Usually when a well breaks through I like to stay the night so I can see the job finished, but with you along . . ."

"You're kidding, right?" Harry shook his head. "Why would I want to go back to that house?"

"It's hardly a house," scoffed Malfoy. He looked as though he might say something else, but changed his mind. Just as well. Harry wasn't in any mood for lectures about how the manor was his home. "Fine, then. We'll stay. We've already been invited, anyway. They're going to have a feast."

And Malfoy, no doubt, was going to be the guest of honor.

Harry was surprised to find he didn't mind. A well that would supply clean, safe water for decades to come . . . Malfoy deserved some accolades. 

There was just one thing that puzzled him, though.

"The electrical wires that go down the well to power the pump." He looked left and right, then raised his hands, palms up and fingers spread. "Where's the plug?"

"Plug?"

"Outlet."

"I hope you know I don't have the faintest clue what you're on about."

"For electricity!"

"Muggles get that from plugs?"

"Yeah, plugs in the wall! Where did you think it came from?"

"I don't think, I know. It comes from solar panels. Well, I suppose in truth it comes from the sun, but there certainly aren't any walls involved. They'd block the rays and get in the bloody way!"

"Oh." Solar panels. Of course. Harry should have thought of that. He'd heard Hermione go on and on about them enough times. 

"I wish the pump could run on magic. Those panels are nasty buggers. I tried to help with them the first time out and all I got for my trouble was some kind of lightning slamming through me and people screaming in French, and my mind was so bloody fried I couldn't understand them for five minutes."

"You got electrocuted?"

"My hair stood on end." Malfoy smiled. "Well, not literally. Not like yours."

"Ha. Very funny."

"Well, you did call me pale."

"You _are_ pale. You're practically bleached!"

"No, I think I've a tinge of golden after all the time I've spent working in the sun."

It was true. He did have a tiny bit of a golden tinge on his face and hands. Not on his chest and back, though.

Malfoy yawned again. "I don't know about you, but I need a bit of a nap before the feast. Come to my hut."

"You have a hut?"

"Didn't I just say so?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes as he jumped to his feet and held a hand out to Harry. "Maybe you've got a bit of sunstroke, after all. I'm more used to conditions here, but--"

Harry grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, then shook it off. "For God's sake. I was just surprised to think of you in a hut."

"I get offered one in every village. They like to make me feel welcome. Come on. Let's get some sleep."

Harry hesitated. "But, I mean, what will they think?"

"That my brother's sharing my hut!"

"You told them I'm your brother?"

"You don't seem to realize that you _are_ my brother. I wouldn't introduce you any other way." Malfoy shrugged. "Well, I'm knackered. Come along if you like. If you don't, I imagine you can entertain yourself until the feast."

Harry debated for a moment. Yes, he could entertain himself well enough, even if nobody here knew any English at the moment. For one thing, he could look for the rock that Malfoy had charmed-- but he couldn't uncharm it without using his wand. He probably couldn't uncharm it in any case since he doubted that a simple _Finite_ would do the job. 

And besides, he was knackered too. He might not have helped lower the pump, but he'd worked hard, in heat he wasn't used to, and a nap sounded just the thing.

"Separate beds," he made sure to say.

"Separate mats," murmured Malfoy.

There were indeed two in the hut, but it didn't end up mattering. Harry woke up that evening the same way he'd woken up that morning. The same way he woke up every morning. His back pressed firmly into Malfoy's chest, Malfoy's arms around him as they lay nestled like spoons in a drawer.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Their own clothes had been absolutely disgusting earlier, drenched with sweat and dirt from their labors. They were only one cleaning charm away from perfection, of course, but that would be hard to explain to their Muggle hosts.

After their nap they'd found some fresh clothes laid out on the stoop for them, though. Nothing fancy, just tee-shirts and pull-up trousers with elasticized waistbands -- but the colors were pretty extravagant by British standards. Wizarding standards, at least. Malfoy ended up wearing yellow and orange because Harry had been faster and had grabbed the green and blue for himself.

The clothes meant that they looked almost like members of the village at that evening's feast. To Harry's surprise, there was a kind of ritual dance first, nothing like the wildness of dancing in the well-water showering down. A drumbeat set the rhythm, picking up energy as several men began chanting to it, and then girls in bright costumes were whirling in patterns, first one way and then the other.

One of them smiled at Harry in a suggestive way. He smiled back because it seemed like the friendly thing to do.

Drink came next, first some kind of frothy concoction served in tiny bark cups. The serving was small, but left Harry a little light-headed, maybe because he hadn't eaten in too long. Food arrived soon after, though, great heaping platters of it that were passed around the circle, everybody helping himself.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"It's not quite rice," murmured Harry later as he chewed something grainy and flavorful. It had looked like a bit like rice in the flickering firelight, and he'd momentarily wondered if that grew in Africa.

"Millet," said Malfoy, sitting cross-legged beside him. 

"What's millet, exactly?"

"I don't really know."

Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment before the two of them burst out laughing. Not that millet was so funny. They'd just both had . . . well, Harry wasn't sure quite how much they'd had to drink. But it had been a lot, and the fermented beer in this village seemed awfully potent. Harry peered at his can and pointed to a word prominently displayed on the side. "What's this mean?"

Malfoy leaned over. "Oh. Sorghum, I think. The bitter here is made of sorghum?"

It was like a loop began playing in Harry's head. He knew they'd just done this, but it had been so damned funny that he couldn't resist. 

"What's sorghum, exactly?"

"I don't really know!"

That set the two of them off again, cackling like insane hyenas.

Harry lifted his can in a toast, giggling more when it sloshed out the top and nearly splashed Malfoy. "To sorghum!"

Never one to be outdone, Malfoy raised his own can, sloshing the contents even more out than Harry had. "To millet!"

They drank to that, great sloppy gulps of beer made of whatever, but Harry couldn't let Malfoy have the last word, could he? He never had before!

"To oats!"

"To barley!"

That called for an even bigger gulp of beer, since Harry had at least heard of both of those.

"To . . . um, wheat!"

"To amaranth!"

All right, Harry hadn't heard of that one. He decided he should take two gulps in honor of learning a new word. Hermione would be so proud.

"To . . . bread!"

Malfoy guffawed. "Bread's not a proper grain!"

"Neither is anamara-- aramath-- mathemanth--"

"It's not?"

"Then I win!" yelled Harry gleefully, raising his beer to drink the rest, only to find the can empty after all the sloshing and gulping.

"You do not! You went first!"

"Then it's a draw!"

"All right, it can be a draw!"

Malfoy gulped greedily; Harry remembered at the last second that, oh yeah, his can was empty.

"We need more beer! To celebrate!"

"Millet beer!" called Malfoy.

"Anamathematicranth beer!" shouted Harry.

A village woman making the rounds of the feast topped them up with something different, something fruity with a monkey climbing up the side of the cup. A really small monkey. Oh. When Harry blinked and the wooden cup came into better focus, he could see that the handle was carved to look like a chattering monkey holding a bunch of bananas.

Clever, really.

Harry decided to drink to it.

" _Wow_." The drink, whatever it was, almost knocked him onto his back. He mused for half a second, and decided to drink to it. Then he drank to the monkey again. Then he drank to Africa, since he couldn't remember which country he was in. The cup was almost empty by the time he spoke again. "A'most has the kick a Firewhisky."

Malfoy grinned and giggled. "Mmm, had this in a few villages. The trick is to sip it, Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed. No, that wasn't right. Something wasn't right. Maybe you _weren't_ supposed to sip it? No, even as pissed as he was, he could recognize that for the stupid thought it was. Something else was wrong, though--

"Hey!" he said, shoving a hand into the other man's shoulder. "I thought we were bwothers. What's with zis 'Potter'?"

Malfoy peered blearily at him, "Habit?"

"I like Harry," said Harry petulantly. "A'ways wanted to be jus' Harry, y'know. Or you don't. I think you liked me being Potter. Wan' to shake my hand, didn't you, but not until you knew I was Potter. Don' 'member a hand in the robes shop, now do I?"

"I was up on a stool and stuck full of pins!"

"Yeah, well, it's Harry," said Harry, slurring the words together so much that even he realized it. He slowed down for the next part so Malfoy would get it right. "Haaaaaaaarrrrrrreeeeeeee."

"Harry," said Malfoy obediently, nodding his head like he'd just agreed to eat a sweet.

"Then let's shake on it," said Harry, thrusting his hand out. It collided with Malfoy's cup, spilling rum or such all over the other man's trousers, but Malfoy didn't appear to so much as notice. He was too busy staring at Harry's outstretched hand as if it was made of pure gold, his eyes actually glowing in the firelight.

Harry waited until Malfoy had placed his golden-tinged hand into Harry's bronzed one, and closed his fingers around Malfoy's, pumping up and down once in a decisive motion. A manly motion, the way he'd seen on the telly. "'Cause I don't like to shake with people that see me as Potter," he added, because Malfoy had sort of a stupid expression on his face, and Harry wasn't sure he'd quite got the point. "But if I'm Harry, then yeah. We kin be mates."

Malfoy hadn't let go of his hand. "Brothers."

"Ron has bwothers," said Harry mournfully, sliding his hand away even though the way Malfoy was gripping it made that a little hard. "There's Bill and George and Fred, 'cept Fred's dead, and um . . . oh yeah, Charlie, and Bill and Percy, and uh . . . Bill, and--"

"Lots of brothers."

"Make it look so easy . . ." Harry suddenly crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I usedta think I wanted some."

Malfoy looked like he might tip over, he was tilting his head so much. 

"But I don'," added Harry, shaking his head. "Don' wan' none."

"You don't want a brother?"

"Can't want." Harry suddenly felt like blubbering, but that was all right. Malfoy wouldn't misunderstand, not after the manly man shake they'd just shared. "I'm a m-- m-- mess it all up."

Malfoy was silent for a moment, before he scooted closer to Harry and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You won't mess it up, Harry. You _won't_."

"Can't stop it!" Harry said, some of the blubbers coming out of him, bubbling up from a deep pit of longing somewhere down by his knees. It was always there, though nobody else could see it. He always knew, though. Even when he forgot about it sometimes, he still knew it was there. "M'own family, c'ept they're not really, didn't wan' nothin' to do wif-- well, Dudley a bit, but wha's one s'tence affer sixteen years a gettin' called names and chased up trees--"

"Your family are idiots," said Malfoy, squeezing his shoulder. "They didn't even feed you, remember?"

Harry felt a wail coming up from inside him and gritted his teeth to hold it in. Blubbering was one thing. 'Specially after that manly man shake. But he wasn't going to burst into tears like a baby.

Except, somewhere down inside him, he knew he still _was_ that little baby who had taken love and care for granted until one day when everything changed and those things were gone forever. But that baby hadn't understood why the bright colors splashed across his nursery walls had been swapped out for nothing but black, black, black.

He hung his head and whimpered, because it was either that or wail, after all. "Why wouldja feed a waste a space?"

"No, _no_ ," said Malfoy warmly, tipping a finger underneath Harry's chin to make him raise his head. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead, his lips lingering on Harry's brow. "You're not a waste of space, Harry. You're not. You never, ever were." He drew back and looked Harry in the eyes, which was disorienting since Malfoy had about six of them by then. "I'm very happy to have you in the family, and so are my parents. They always did want to have another child. And now they do."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Harry not Potter?"

"I think the more they get to know you, the more Harry you'll become." Malfoy kissed his forehead again. "All right, then?"

"All right." Harry sniffled, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and tried to get a hold of himself. He looked around for his monkey cup but didn't see where it had got to. "M'need 'nother fruityfruit drink--"

"I honestly think you've had enough. I should have remembered you're not as used to these feasts as I am. Although . . . well, no matter. I'll risk a hangover charm in the morning if you need one."

"I needa-- needa--" Harry burped. "I needa loo."

"I should think so. I'm not far behind you."

Harry reached out and poked a finger into the chest of the man facing him. "You're in fronta me."

"I need the loo, too. Come on, we'll find a likely tree together."

Harry blinked. "Two trees. One each."

"Two nearby trees. I don't fancy losing you in this condition." A wicked grin lit up his features. "Should we compete for height or aim?"

Harry suddenly burst out laughing. "A pissing contest-- Auror training they warn you all the time notta make things inta a pissing contest--"

Malfoy took his hand and pulled him to stand, then whispered against his ear. "You don't have to tell them."

Harry nodded. That was about as good a bit of advice as he thought he'd ever heard. "Thanks, Malfoy--"

"Draco."

Harry almost walked into one of the dancers, but a hand on his back helped him change direction in time. "But you, you're Malfoy--"

The trees began to surround them as they wandered away from the feast, Harry stumbling some, but not falling. 

"I'm a bit like you, though. It's tiresome being judged by a name alone. Malfoy means a lot of things, but my own name, not so much. Do you think you could call me Draco?"

Harry wasn't sure why that suggestion made goose-pimples race along his arms. Maybe it was just because he really needed to pee by then. "Drake," he compromised.

"No."

"He was a pirate!" Harry was sure that would make a difference. Malfoy would like being a pirate!

"Absolutely not."

"Dray?"

"No."

"Drain-o?"

"No!"

"Oh, fine. _Draco._ Not my fault if it rhymes with Bacos," he added, because it seemed important that he make that clear.

"Not much to worry about, since that's not a word."

"Is so!"

"Oh, yeah? Then what are Bacos?"

"Fake Muggle bacon!"

"Eww."

"Yeah. They are."

"There," said Malfoy . . . er, Draco, suddenly stopping their forward motion. "That tree for you, this one for me."

"Let's try to write our names in pee!" Harry suggested, hopping on one foot because he had to go so bad.

"Let's try to hit the trees and not each other," said Draco dryly. "On second thought, let me choose a tree a little farther away. There, better."

He turned his back and proceeded to do his business.

Harry was a bit annoyed that Draco finished first, but then he remembered that they weren't competing on speed, and he felt better. _Much_ better. He'd never realized how pleasant a nice, long pee could be. He wished he'd drunk more--

"All done, then?"

"Mmm." 

"Best zip up."

"No zip--"

"Best _pull_ up."

"Hmm? Oh." Harry fiddled for a moment and got all his bits tucked properly away. 

That turned out to be a good decision since when they got back to the village, there was a young lady sitting on their stoop. She conversed in fluent French with Draco for a moment. Harry couldn't understand, but Draco seemed to be saying 'no' a lot. After she left, Draco bundled him into the hut and rolled out their sleeping mats, shaking out their lightweight blankets.

"Wha was . . ." 

"She was sent here to offer you . . . well, herself, basically. It's customary here to make honored guests very welcome."

Harry shimmied out of his clothes and tucked himself into the bedroll Draco had got ready. "Tha's . . . not right."

"And I knew you would think so, so I told her 'no' on your behalf."

"Hope you didunt cause . . . um . . ."

"Offense?" Draco shook his head, his bright hair gleaming in the moonlight seeping through the thatch roof. "No, I'm sure it's fine. She could see that you weren't really fit for much . . . exertion."

"Enjoyed the pee on the tree, though," said Harry sleepily. "Mmm. Well, g'night, Draco . . ."

"Good night, Harry," said Draco, pulling him close so they would share both the blankets.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry woke up to a blinding light in his eyes, and three seconds later, a pounding headache that almost convinced him that Voldemort was back and living inside that stupid lightning bolt scar.

He moaned, then cut it short when the noise made his head pound even harder.

At least the light had gone away. It took him a minute to understand that somebody must have shut the door to the . . . hut?

Things started coming back to him then. The hut was in Africa, where Malfoy was drilling water wells for good deeds, and the night before there'd been some kind of a celebration . . . a feast, right, and there'd been beer served by monkeys, or something like that, and drinks a lot stronger than beer, and--

"Sorry about the light," said Malfoy in a smooth voice that held no trace whatsoever of hangover. "I had to go out to get some water."

Harry rolled over, wished he hadn't, and held back an embarrassing groan. " _Aguamenti--_ "

Malfoy's voice went dry. "I do know that one, but my patented hangover charm works best with natural water, not the conjured kind. And I just happened to run across this magnificent well. Imagine that."

"The well has no pump."

"No, but the wizard does have magic. Don't worry, I didn't let anyone see anything out of the ordinary. Now, sit up and drink all this, and I'll charm it to absorb straight into your bloodstream."

Sit up? Harry managed, but it felt like the room was rocking back and forth. That sensation went away in a moment, though, and then Harry suddenly felt like a man lost in the desert for five days. How had he got so parched? He wasted no time in gulping down the water in the canteen Malfoy handed him.

When Malfoy waved his wand, a tingle of magic seemed to reach down into Harry's gut, sucking the water straight through him, but not just into his veins, but into every part of him. When the sensation reached his brain he almost fell over from the cool and wetness of it. Then that feeling washed away like a tide pulled out to sea, and he felt . . . normal, he realized.

"Thanks," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes and then at the side of his head. It was only then that he noticed he wasn't wearing anything. He almost blushed, wondering if he'd slept in Malfoy's arms like that. And what had the other man been wearing? And . . . and . . . Harry couldn't think about it. He decided he didn't have to, since he couldn't remember it. He'd just pretend it didn't happen.

At least he wasn't completely exposed at the moment. He was sitting up shirtless, but the blankets covered all his important bits. Harry snatched his clothes from where they'd been flung the night before and tugged them on, keeping the blanket strategically positioned. Malfoy watched all this with a perfectly straight face, but his eyes danced like he was trying hard not to laugh. 

To cover his embarrassment as he dressed, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. "Your hangover charm. Wordless, eh?"

"Oh, it's not truly mine. It's one of those odd spells that has less effect if the recipient hears it." Malfoy shrugged. "Though personally, I think it's just a way to keep the incantation away from tender ears. You wouldn't want the young ones to think they can play with alcohol and suffer absolutely no repercussions."

Harry snorted, jumping to his feet and brushing dust off his clothes. It didn't seem to do much good. "That's approximately as stupid as saying that denying teenagers birth control will keep them from playing around with each other. It won't. It'll just mean they get diseases."

"Diseases? From sex?"

Malfoy sounded astonished.

"Yeah. Fatal ones sometimes."

"How perfectly dreadful. Perhaps I should make that problem my next worthy deed."

"If you want to devote years of your life to learning all the science involved. Chemistry, microbiology -- some of the best minds in the world have been working on the problem since before we started at Hogwarts. I doubt you could ever catch up to their research. I mean, you don't even know what DNA is, do you?"

"The Department of Numerology and Astrology?"

Harry winced, since Malfoy was right. There _was_ one of those. "No, I mean the other DNA. It's . . . uh, something in the blood--"

"Oh, _blood_." Malfoy's expression suddenly closed off. "I can't dabble in anything related to that. Not that I publicize my worthy deeds, but if word were to get out-- no, that's too likely to be misunderstood, coming from me."

True, but-- "I think DNA's actually in every part of us. I mean, every cell, not just blood cells--"

"All the same." Malfoy shrugged, then. "I shouldn't jump into things, in any case. I'll continue with wells unless I See some better path branching off. Speaking of which, they need us to mix concrete for the seal. But after breakfast. I hope you like okra."

"What's okra, exactly?"

"I don't really know--"

Harry and Malfoy stared at one another for a moment as the feeling of déjà vu swept over them, both of them finally chuckling.

"We had conversations like that last night, I think," said Harry, stretching his arms out to work the kinks out of his back. He ached, but that was probably due to the hard work he'd put in the day before, not to overindulging at the feast. Though he couldn't really remember, could he?

"A few," said Malfoy in a tone that sounded so casual it struck Harry as studied. "After a while you agreed to call me Draco."

Harry stared. "You can't hold me to something I said while I was pissed!"

"That's true, I can't, but I thought it might be good to mention it." Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well . . . just keep it in mind, then. Whenever you feel ready . . . I would quite like it."

Malfoy sounded nervous, and more than a little needy, which was so strange that Harry almost stared again. About the only way he could cope with this was to remember all the reasons he had to stay angry at the other man. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind, Malfoy," he retorted, putting slight stress on the last word. After a moment, though, he couldn't stop the obvious question from popping forth. "Why do you care?"

He almost expected Malfoy to draw himself up proudly and announce that he didn't care. Instead, Malfoy averted his eyes, one foot restlessly scuffing the packed earth floor of the hut. "It should be because it'll make the path easier to follow, but it's not just that. We are brothers, after all, and . . ." 

Malfoy seemed to come to some kind of decision, then. Looking Harry in the eyes again, he said the rest. "I know you don't have a lot of reason to trust in the idea of family, let alone to trust my parents or myself, but a magical adoption is never undertaken lightly. It can't be, as the binding is absolutely permanent and irrevocable. You _are_ family, now."

Harry wasn't sure why he felt shaken by all that, but he did. To throw it all back in Malfoy's face seemed . . . well, he just couldn't do it, and he wasn't sure why not. It wasn't like he still longed for a family; he'd gotten past that years and years ago when Sirius had died. No point in torturing himself with things that would never, ever be.

And even if he _did_ still want a family, he sure as hell wouldn't have picked the Malfoys! What the hell sort of "family" not only tricked you into joining, but made you think you were slave? What the hell sort of "brother" kept you on a leash even after he'd admitted that you weren't his slave?

Somehow this time, though, the anger just didn't come on command. Not quite like before, anyway.

"I'll keep that in mind, too," he said. 

Malfoy stared at him for another minute, and then nodded. "All right. Let's get some breakfast so we'll have enough energy to mix concrete."

That sounded almost like . . . "By hand? No mixer?"

"No electricity."

"Solar, like for the pump!"

"You have a lot to learn about loads and voltage and wattage and pressure."

Harry frowned. "I'm pretty sure that last one isn't relevant."

Malfoy grinned. "Maybe not. I only know enough to sound half-educated, myself. But I do know that we have to mix the concrete using shovels. It's all to the good, Harry. I personally think that magic considers my deeds all the more worthy if I break a sweat."

"But don't you wish you could . . ." Harry made a motion much like twiddling a wand.

"Of course, but _c'est la vie_." Malfoy grinned again. "Don't worry, Harry. If you get too sore I'll return yesterday's favor and give you a rub down."

Oh, that was too much. "You absolute wanker. I'm not going to get sore. I've done plenty of hard manual labor in my life. Unlike some people!"

"I thought the Aurors warned you not to get into pissing contests."

"What?"

Malfoy waved a hand. "Never mind. Let's just get the well into operation, and then we'll go back to the manor for a long, hot soak, and then . . . well, I'll see if I can See anything new."

Right. The point of all this. Harry had wanted proof that Malfoy might actually be some sort of Seer. Somehow, he'd forgotten that in all the business of watching the well get drilled yesterday. But that was all right. Now this village had clean water.

And they had Malfoy to thank for it.

Harry wasn't sure what to think of all that, except that he really couldn't think it wrong. Not even if Malfoy's motives were a little selfish at heart. The outcome wasn't selfish, not at all.

Which could only mean one thing -- something had changed Malfoy. Maybe the war, maybe his quest for magic. 

Too bad it hadn't changed him enough that he'd have let Harry get married, though.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry didn't think he'd ever been so sore in his life. And considering the life he'd led, that was saying something. Mixing cement by hand, as it turned out, was damned hard work that used muscles dueling never even touched.

Malfoy seemed to take it in stride, but then of course he'd done this sort of thing before.

That thought gave Harry pause. Malfoy had done this sort of thing before? It was like the world had been turned upside down.

They said their good-byes, the villagers chattering away and clapping their hands. But why wouldn't they? The solar panels had been hooked up and the well was already pumping out clean water on demand.

Harry didn't know what Malfoy said to explain their means of departure, but a little while later, they were headed out into the bush again, walking away from the happy villagers. Malfoy seemed deep in thought, his hands fingers making little swirling motions as they walked along.

Finally Harry couldn't bear the wondering any longer. "What did you tell them, that you had a helicopter hidden away out here?" At Malfoy's blank look, he clarified, "A flying machine to get us to a city where we could take an airplane back to London, something like that?"

"Oh, no. I think they'd expect to see or hear such a machine," murmured the other man. "No . . . I just always say that I need to give thanks to the spirits, and a walk will do me good. It's not even a lie, not if you think of magic as some form of spirit," he added defensively.

"Well, it's not like I've never lied myself."

"It's not a lie! Not really."

"It's a little white lie." Harry gave Malfoy a considering look. "Those are all right. But the thing you said at my wedding were great black blotches of lies, and don't you think I'm ever going to forget them."

"Yeah, somehow I _am_ starting to think that!"

"What, you're not going to say that you can _See_ me trusting you someday?" 

"With the way you're skewing the path all over Burkina Faso, I can't See much at all!"

Harry abruptly stopped walking. "I'm skewing the path?"

"Yes! The fact that you hate my guts when we're supposed to learn to trust each other tends to do that!"

_Trust each other . . ._ "Since when are we supposed to do that?" demanded Harry. "The way you told it before, I was supposed to trust you. I didn't hear a word about it being the other way around!"

Malfoy blinked. "I did just say that, didn't I . . . huh." His voice took on a wavering quality which was at odds with the way his swirling fingers were growing more agitated. "Er . . . I think it must probably be true, then."

"Fine, then," said Harry tightly. "Learn to trust me. _Let me go._."

"I can't!" snapped Draco. "You'd go and get married!"

Harry grabbed Malfoy by a forearm and squeezed tightly, but it was in reassurance and not in hostility, so the spell binding him to Malfoy didn't shove him away. "Yes, I would. But _trust me anyway,_ Malfoy. I'll help you when the world turns down a path toward destruction, or whatever it's going to do. Married or not, I'll still help you! I'll even forgive you for this whole ridiculous delay if you just let me go!"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged off his hand without breaking eye contact. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft with something that sounded like regret, and with something else too, something Harry couldn't identify. 

"But you won't still help me," he said quietly. "That's the whole point. I know you think you will, and you will try, but I can See that in the end . . . you won't believe me, of course, but the truth is that to let you go now would be the least worthy thing I've ever done."

"Fuck you!"

Something sparked in Malfoy's gaze. "Ah . . . I should have thought of this before. My apologies. Last night you weren't in any sort of shape, of course, but when we get back home if you'd like me to arrange something to help you take the edge off . . ."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

Malfoy looked him up and down. "You need a woman. That's the problem, isn't it? It's been a while, and you're a normal man, but no need to worry -- I can have someone gorgeous come to the manor, and you know already that I have ways to ensure perfect discretion. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether a redhead is a good or bad idea--"

Harry had been gaping for some seconds by then, too stunned to react, but the word "redhead" snapped him out of it and made his shaky grip on his temper vanish completely. He lashed out with a fist, only to have the spell bonding him to Malfoy rear up and throw him backwards onto his arse.

"A bad idea, then," said Malfoy dryly. "My apologies again. It wasn't my intent to offend you."

Harry glared, rubbing his back as he shifted into a better position. "I was getting married, you idiot. It wasn't just about sex!"

The other man knelt down at his side. "But aren't you . . ." This time, he let the implication speak for him.

"So?" Harry kept glaring.

A bit diffident, Malfoy's tone this time. "Wouldn't it be better to . . ."

"I can manage on my own, thanks," snarled Harry, a second too late realizing what that had sounded like. "I mean, I can take care of-- I mean, stay out of it!"

"Of course," murmured Malfoy. "Forget I mentioned it."

"I will!"

Malfoy extended a hand as though to help him up, but Harry ignored it and jumped to his feet on his own, even though his back was still sore. He felt like he must had fallen against a sharp rock. Still, that was better than breaking his hand, he supposed. 

In the next moment it occured to him to wonder why his hand _wasn't_ broken. Had Malfoy changed something so that a physical attack by Harry would be warded off less violently? Not that it hadn't been violent, to be flung backwards like that.

All the same, Harry had to acknowledge, however reluctantly, that it was better than several broken fingers.

Not that he was going to thank Malfoy. He was never going to thank Malfoy. Not for any part of this.

oOoOoOoOoOo

A moment after the Portkey deposited them in the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor, Mr. Malfoy emerged from a side room and surveyed them rather critically. "Ah, Draco. I was rather hoping you would return yesterday. Some urgent owl post has arrived from Gringotts under scion's seal."

Draco sighed and took out his wand, transfiguring his safari clothes back into wizarding attire. "Sometimes I wish you could take back the ring. I have enough to do."

Harry almost expected Mr. Malfoy to jump on that offer, but he didn't. It wasn't even an offer, not really.

"You know why this is best for the family," he said.

"Yes, I know." Draco gave a small sigh and flicked his wand to transfigure Harry's clothes as well. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose. My hot bath will have to wait, but you should soak your sore muscles." His brow suddenly furrowed as he turned back to his father. "Take Harry to Mother and tell her to give him some of the potion she procured for me the first time I returned from Africa."

"The owl post--"

"Harry first." Draco pierced his father with a single glance. "He is your son too, or had you forgotten? You didn't even greet him."

"I barely greeted you," retorted the older man, before smoothly turning his attention to Harry. "Welcome home. Did you enjoy your trip to Sudan? I presume it was your first."

"Burkina Faso," murmured Harry. 

"Ah. Your brother should keep us better informed. The last well was in Sudan," said Mr. Malfoy in a pleasant, conversational tone as he began to walk farther into the manor. He glanced back when Harry made no move to follow. "Do you not want the potion?"

Harry did, but he didn't want to take it from _him_.

On the other side, he'd really be taking it from Malfoy's mother. That was probably all right.

He'd forgotten how vast this stupid manor was. By the time they finally reached a room that was half-outdoors and called the "conservatory," Harry's arms and legs ached worse than ever and the place where he'd fallen on a rock was sending stabbing pains through him.

"Harry," said Narcissa warmly, coming into view from behind an urn as tall as she was, her wand still scattering little fountains of bluish sparks across the huge potted . . . something, that was in the urn. "How was Africa?"

"Uh, hot," said Harry. "With strange food."

"He needs that potion you gave Draco after the first well."

"Oh, of course." Narcissa beamed, the blue sparks fading as she flicked what looked like a modified Summoning charm. "It did wonders for your brother."

"Stop calling him my brother," muttered Harry.

She smiled at him the way she might regard a toddler refusing to eat his veg. "Why, when he is exactly that?"

"Not by my choice, he isn't."

"He didn't choose to be my son," said Mr. Malfoy then, waving at a chair. "Yet he is no less my son for all that. Nor are you."

Harry wanted the potion pretty badly by then, and didn't want to stand for however long it took for it to arrive, so he took the chair, leaning back and trying to hide his sigh of exhaustion. "I don't want to argue," he said. "But I can't think of you as . . . as parents, all right? So if you could stop talking about it--"

He supposed that was better than _Shut the fuck up._ He could have said that to Lucius Malfoy, but not his wife. She didn't deserve it.

"Here is your potion," said Narcissa warmly. Only then did Harry realize that he must have closed his eyes. Or dozed off, even. The thought gave him a creepy feeling, because when he looked, Mr. Malfoy was still there, sitting in on a short wicker couch opposite Harry now.

And Harry had nodded off. No matter how knackered he was, that could only mean one thing: some part of him must trust the man not to murder him in his sleep.

Again, he had that sensation that the world had turned upside down. 

"All of it?" he asked weakly as he took the vial from Mrs. Malfoy's outstretched fingers.

She shook her head. "Only as much as you need. Stop drinking when the flavor changes."

"To? From?"

"It's entirely personal."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but took her word for it. The potion tasted like sprigs of fresh mint at first. One gulp, two, three . . . and then the flavor suddenly became bitter, like the baking chocolate he'd once nicked from Aunt Petunia's cupboard.

"It will only be five minutes until your muscle aches ease." Narcissa's skirts swished as she sat down next to her husband. "Tell us about your time with Draco."

At least she hadn't used the word _brother_ again. "Drilling the well was a lot more complicated than I'd have expected."

She blinked. "But you grew up with Muggles."

"Drilling wells isn't very common, all the same. They get their water from pipes and city supplies." Harry shrugged. "I'd be surprised if one Londoner in a thousand has ever seen a well before."

"That is just as well," said Mr. Malfoy, one hand on the wicker arm of the sofa, the other one clasping Narcissa's, their fingers entwined. "When wishing wells were common, our world was sometimes exposed by a burst of magic rushing forth."

"There's no such thing as a wishing--"

Harry stopped, because of course there probably was. He'd just never thought about it before.

"Wells dug in locations rich in natural earth magic," explained Mr. Malfoy, "could help wizards tap into elemental forces. Water from such wells was used to grow trees whose wood would later form wands, for example. And indeed, a Galleon tossed into such a well could influence events in interesting ways. But then they fell out of vogue for a number of reasons, not the least of which was their tendency to mistake Muggle gold for goblin gold at times."

"It's one reason we were quite concerned at first that Draco had latched onto wells as a worthy deed," said Narissa, her blue eyes still reflecting a little worry. "What if he accidentally put one down in an area where magic runs wild beneath the earth? What if an unsuspecting Muggle tossed a bit of gold in, and--"

"The people in the village don't have any gold," Harry assured her, "and if they did, they wouldn't be tossing it down wells. Besides, it's not like a well in a fairy tale. The well's been sealed."

"Draco did explain that to us," murmured Mr. Malfoy. "A kindness, since as scion he can do exactly as he pleases regardless of our sentiments."

"I know all about that part," said Harry, feeling like that bitter chocolate flavor was still coating his tongue.

"I am sorry you resent him so much, Harry," said Narcissa softly. 

"Of course I resent him! You don't know what he said at my wedding!"

"Actually, we do," said Mr. Malfoy. "Please believe me when I say that we had strong words with him after viewing the Pensieve memory."

Harry sat up a little straighter, relieved that since the potion was taking effect as promised, the motion caused no discomfort. "Why would he let you see a thing like that? He was horrible!"

"Yes, he was. But he let us see it because we asked."

Beside her husband, Narcissa nodded.

"But he's the scion!"

"And I am still his father." Lucius shook his head. "And yes, he was horrible. All the more so considering that his intention all along was to bring you into the family. That was a poor start."

"That's putting it mildly."

"He did try other means to prevent your marriage."

"What's so terrible about my marriage that it had to be stopped? He could have just explained, he could have just--" Harry threw up his hands. "He didn't have to wreck my life!"

"He thinks he did."

"But he can't say why, not until he Sees more," scoffed Harry. "As if he Sees anything at all, really. I think it's all in his head. I think he's got delusions of grandeur. He was always annoyed at school when people didn't pay enough attention to him, which was half his problem with me! He could hardly bear it when I was in the Tournament, did you know that? And he sure as shit didn't like it when he found out I was the master of the Elder Wand when _he_ had been it without knowing! I think he's trying to be a Seer so he can finally have a chance of greatness, so of _course_ he's got himself convinced that he's received a prophecy about the most dramatic thing possible, the end of the world! I think all he really Sees is his own failures and--"

"I think you had better see this," said a quiet voice from the door of the conservatory. "And please believe me when I tell you that I'm sorry it's going to hurt."

With that, Draco stepped forward and laid the _Evening Prophet_ across Harry's lap.

But Harry didn't see the name of the paper, nor even the main headline at the top of the page. All he saw was the photograph of Ginny, dressed in a familiar white robes, kissing Dean Thomas under an arch festooned with flowers.

And then he saw the headline.

Chosen One's Ex Weds Wizarding Artist of the Year!

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry's heart stopped for a moment. Literally stopped, like he didn't have one at all and he was just a statue, staring down at the photograph as time and again, Ginny smiled and tossed her bouquet before the picture snapped back to the kiss and she was snogging Dean like she'd loved him forever and Harry had never existed, or at least not for her.

Then reason came roaring back, right along with his heartbeat, as Harry remembered just who he was dealing with. Right, _sure_ Ginny had got married to someone else.

"Try again, Malfoy," he snarled, throwing the paper as hard as he could. Since it was a paper, it fluttered to the floor before it could even make contact with Malfoy's shields. "She wouldn't get married! I've only been missing for what, three months!"

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "And yet there she is."

"It's not true!"

Malfoy curled a lip. "I could understand your reaction if all you had was a reporter's word for it. But that's a bloody photograph!"

"Polyjuice!" Harry was practically screaming by then. "Or more likely, the whole thing's a fake version of today's paper! It's not like I can run out to a newstand and check, is it? Must be convenient to have so much money that you can have a mock-up like this drawn up on command, but if you think I'm falling for it--"

"Yesterday's paper," corrected Malfoy. "Check the date."

"Like that makes a fuck of a difference!" Harry bared his teeth. "Is this why you offered to buy me a prostitute? So you could have _her_ deliver the bad news and I'd take it better, seeing as I'd already cheated on Ginny? Must have put quite a crimp in your nasty little scheme when I told you to shove it!"

Narcissa gasped, clearly scandalized. "You offered to procure your brother a . . . a . . ."

"I did not!" snapped Malfoy. "She would have been someone from an impeccable family eager to do the scion Malfoy a favor. _Not_ a prostitute." He shuddered, then glared at Harry. "And the offer was meant sincerely. I had no idea this would be coming so soon."

"What, you didn't _See_ it?" jeered Harry.

"No, all I Saw was that she didn't love you and she'd be cheating on you sooner or later like the little _slut_ she is--"

"Draco!" roared Mr. Malfoy. "Your mother told you not to speak of Miss Weasley in such terms!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Father."

It was probably the eye-rolling that made Lucius Malfoy tense with anger. "You owe Harry an apology--"

"Draco owes him more than that," interrupted Narcissa, her eyes blue and very cold as she stared at her son. "Is this report the truth, or have you been in contact with someone, _anyone_ , to make Miss Weasley appear so faithless?"

Harry nodded emphatically, glad to have at least one other person doubt the twerp.

"Of course it's the truth! I wouldn't-- I wouldn't lie about--"

"Yeah, you wouldn't, say break up someone's wedding with _lies_!" shouted Harry. If not for the adoption spell's protections, Harry would have Malfoy flat on the ground by then and be pounding his handsome face into a pulp no woman would look at twice, ever again! "You wouldn't boast about making my fiancée suck your father's cock, just to horrify me enough that you could trick me into being some twisted form of brother you could manipulate until the end of time!"

Malfoy had gone white; Harry didn't know at which part. 

"I didn't fake this article," he said quietly.

"Then you owe Harry proof he cannot doubt," said Narcissa, just as quietly. "He is your brother, and it would be reprehensible to leave him in a welter of anguish and uncertainty about the young lady he regards as his fiancée."

Mr. Malfoy added his own stern tones to the discussion. "It would be unworthy of the scion Malfoy."

"Fine," snapped Malfoy, using his wand to levitate the paper from the floor. He laid it aside on a table, his every motion stiff. "What would convince you, then?"

"I have to talk to Ginny--"

"I'm not lying about this! She's on her honeymoon! Do you really want to see her with him? Tonight?"

"You are lying!"

"Harry," said Narcissa softly. "Where would she be if she hasn't married?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. "You're going to take me to the Burrow, _right now_ , and you're going to let me talk to anybody I find there, and you're going to stay the fuck out of the way. And I swear, Malfoy, if I find out she's not married--"

"If you find out that," inserted Mr. Malfoy in a thunderous tone, "I will make my son regret the day he decided to take such a cruel action against my other son!"

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Prove that to your brother!"

"I will!" Malfoy held out his arm. "Well, Harry? _I_ certainly don't know the way to this _Burrow_."

Harry leapt across the distance separating them, grabbed his arm, squeezed hard, and spun.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Malfoy shook Harry off the instant they landed, and shoved him toward the building in the distance. "The tether won't let you Apparate, but you know that already. If these people have a Floo, all you'll get for trying to use it is a bad burn, which I might be annoyed enough not to heal, so--"

"Oh, fuck off," said Harry, already starting to walk away. 

"And a Portkey won't work unless I take it alongside you--"

Harry put Malfoy out of his mind and strode forward, his footsteps eating up the distance separating him from Ginny. He had no idea what he'd say to her, and even less idea why Malfoy would suddenly allow him to see her, when he'd been so adamant before, but then again, his parents had put him on the spot, and Malfoy never had been very courageous, had he? He'd rather keep pretending he hadn't faked a newspaper than have enough stones to admit he'd lied--

Harry's first clue that something was very wrong came when he saw the look on Molly Weasley's face. She opened the door to his knock, smiled brightly to see him . . . and in the next instant, her face fell. "Oh, Harry . . ."

He knew what her tone of voice meant. Of course he knew; he wasn't stupid. But even though he _knew_ , he couldn't believe it. Couldn't let himself believe it. "Can I see Ginny?"

Arthur Weasley appeared beside his wife then, his lightly wrinkled face creased more than usual in obvious sorrow. "But . . ." 

Molly elbowed him sharply, and Arthur gave a nod, just as sharp. "Come in, Harry. Come in and sit down, and have something to drink with us, and . . . we'll . . . we'll talk." 

Harry followed them inside, his heart sinking until it felt like it might start oozing out his toes. But still, he asked again because he didn't know what else to say. "Can I see Ginny?"

"Sit down, Harry, sit down," urged Arthur. "What can I get you? Firewhisky, Butterbeer?"

"We have some wine left over from the--" Molly gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. And then tears rose to her eyes, and Harry wished he'd never come. He didn't want to hurt these people. He certainly couldn't deny the truth any longer, not when the pair of them looked shattered to have to break it to him.

He didn't want them to shatter, not on his account, so he said it, because it was him or them, and while it might not hurt them worse, he didn't want them hurting at all. "Ginny's married, isn't she? She married Dean Thomas yesterday?"

"Yes," said Arthur, sinking into a chair. "I'm sorry, Harry. I truly am sorry."

Molly bustled into the kitchen and came out just as quickly, three tall glasses of something on a tray bobbing along behind her. "Water," she said briskly. "Cold water. Drink up and then tell us why you've come, seeing as you'd already heard."

Harry gulped the water, wondering how she'd known that the cold would help him keep his tears inside. Because now that the truth was sinking in, he did feel like he might lose control of the aching behind his eyes. But the cold did help. 

"I . . . I heard from an unreliable source," he muttered, but not until he'd drained the entire glass. "I couldn't trust . . . it. Couldn't believe it--"

"Well, no, I suppose not," said Molly, smiling in sympathy. "You've been abroad, then?"

Right. When he'd disappeared the rumor had gone about that he was off licking his wounds somewhere, after Ginny had rejected him. Which she hadn't done . . . it had all been Malfoy's fault. Except now, she _had_ done it, and she'd done it in a way that couldn't be undone. The story before had been that she had cold feet and needed time to think. They could have got married after that blew over.

But not now. Now, she was bonded for life.

"Yeah, I've been abroad," he said dully. What else was he going to say? That he'd been adopted by the fucking Malfoy family? The Weasleys' worst enemy, and now Harry was one of them, sort of? He didn't want anybody to know that.

Not even if the slavery part of the story would cast Malfoy in a nasty light.

And anyway, even that part would just make Harry look stupid, to have fallen for a trick like that.

"Abroad," he repeated, feeling like his head was full of cotton wool. When had thinking straight got so hard? Just one thought kept strumming through his mind, the sound of it so ugly and discordant that it felt off-key. _Ginny, married. Ginny, married. Ginny, married._

"Yeah, abroad," he finally managed to get out a third time. "And I heard . . . that, and I didn't believe it, and I had to come back to make sure, but one look at the pair of you and I just knew, you know?"

"Oh, Harry." 

That was Molly, again.

Or was it?

A niggling suspicion began to bloom in Harry's mind. This had to be the Burrow, it just had to, since Harry was the one who had transported them here, but what if these people weren't Arthur and Molly Weasley? Malfoy was far from a criminal mastermind, but if he could fake up a newspaper, surely he could arrange for imposters to be waiting here to console him? And weren't these two just _too_ perfect, Arthur with his wrinkled shirt and Molly in her stained apron, acting like they'd known him for years and years?

They were so much themselves that they just had to be imposters, Harry decided, narrowing his eyes even as he stood up and drew the hawthorn wand. "I think you'd better come along with me to MLE. Don't make any sudden movements--"

"Harry?" That was Arthur.

"The poor dear," said Molly in a horrified tone. "The shock of it all. He's not himself. When Ginevra gets back I'll be having a word with her, just see if I don't--"

"You're not yourselves, is more to the point," said Harry coldly, Auror procedure coming back to him. "You've been scuppered. _Immobilus._ " 

Magical bonds appeared around their wrists and ankles.

"Oh, Harry," said Molly again, her voice even sadder.

"Ask us questions, Harry," advised Arthur. "You really don't want to bring us into MLE only to discover what you've done."

Questions. For a moment, Harry didn't even understand the word. Then it came to him.

Right. Questions. 

Something that the real Molly and Arthur would know, but that had never made it into the masses of histories already written about Harry and the war. 

He pointed the hawthorn wand at Arthur. "The first time I sat in your kitchen, you asked me the exact purpose of something. What was it?"

Arthur pressed his lips together, obviously thinking back. "A . . . a rubber duck?"

Damn. He was probably him, then. But just in case . . . 

He shifted his gaze but not the wand to Molly. "The first time you saw me, I needed help with something. What was it?"

She had no trouble remembering. "Crossing the barrier on the platform, Harry dear." 

Fuck.

" _Finite Incantatum,_ " he murmured, feeling absolutely sick.

Molly reached out to push his hand down so the wand was no longer trained on Arthur. "I know it's been a terrible shock. I am sorry, Harry. Ginevra wouldn't talk to us after she . . . she ran out on you. She just kept saying she couldn't talk about it."

Which was more true than Molly Weasley would ever know.

"I know she hurt you," Molly went on. "We kept hoping that she'd change her mind, or maybe that you'd come back and change it for her. But you didn't come back, and . . ." Her voice dropped into a hushed whisper. "I'm so sorry, Harry, so sorry, but--"

"Molly," said Arthur in a warning tone. 

"It's better that he know," retorted Molly. "I am sorry, Harry, but Ginny couldn't wait any longer. She had to get married."

She had to get married?

"Why?" asked Harry blankly.

"Because . . ." Molly Weasley winced. "Because of the baby."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry walked and walked. He couldn't feel his feet any longer; he could barely feel his legs. The minty potion he'd had earlier had worn off hours ago but he wasn't in pain any longer. He'd pushed past it when it had struck and just kept on walking, striking blindly across the countryside, not caring about anything but getting away from the Burrow.

Getting away from . . . he couldn't even think her name, not now.

He probably would have walked straight to the coast and down into the sea, and all without noticing, except for one thing.

The tether suddenly snapped taut, and he could go no farther.

Harry sat down and wished the earth would open up and swallow him.

A moment later Malfoy sat down beside him in the grass, three feet distant, and looked at him in the moonlight. He didn't say anything, though. He just sat there and waited.

Harry turned away. "Not going to say that you told me so?"

"No," said Malfoy in a low voice. "Harry . . ."

He fell silent, like he didn't know what to say. Well, that made two of them. 

"That's that, then," Harry finally said in a bitter voice. "You've got what you wanted. She's married to him, bonded for life."

"Yes. You probably blame me for everything--"

Harry snorted, because _that_ was quite the understatement. "Yeah, I do. If you hadn't wrecked my life, she'd be married to me now. And just so you know, you've probably wrecked her life too." Harry might not have gone on, might not have said the rest, but damn it, he was angry with Ginny, too. He'd protected her all through the war, but he didn't feel like protecting her any longer. "Having to get married 'cause you're pregnant isn't exactly the best of both worlds!"

Malfoy went absolutely still, only his lips moving in the moonlight. "She's . . . pregnant?"

"Yeah, and you know how wizarding society is about unwed mothers, so what the fuck was she supposed to do?"

"She could have come to the manor, owled, got me the information-- damn it, Harry, I didn't know that part! You have to believe I didn't know that part!"

Harry stared at him. "I somehow can't imagine it making a difference to you."

"Not make a difference to me?" Malfoy practically shrieked, and then he actually reached across the three feet separating them and grabbed both of Harry's shoulders, giving them a hard shake. "You're my brother, now, not that you seem to understand it! But I know how you'd feel about a child of your own blood! She could have got word to me when she found out! She didn't have to give your baby to another man!"

"Malfoy--"

"Are you aware that there are laws against that sort of thing?"

"Malfoy--"

"I don't know about the Muggle world--"

" _Malfoy!_ "

"--but a wizarding father has rights that can't be abrogated--"

"It's not my baby, Malfoy!"

That finally shut him up. "It's not?"

"No, it's not."

"She's not far enough along?"

The image that conjured made Harry almost flinch. "I don't know, all right? And I don't care."

Malfoy sighed. "I'm sorry to be the one to point this out, Harry, but it very well could be your baby. You won't be able to rule it out for certain until she delivers and you can work out the timeline. But don't worry -- long before then my solicitors will have the truth from her and if it's your baby . . . well, let's just say that I'd love to see what sort of defence a starving artist can raise against the scion Malfoy."

Harry ripped a tuft of grass out. "Leave her alone."

"I will not. You may not be thinking straight past all the shocks, but I certainly am. You have a right to see and hold your child--"

"It's not my child!"

"It could be, and--"

"I never touched her, all right?" Harry shouted the words to get them across, once and for all. "Not like that. Got it? This is _not my baby!_ "

"Oh," said Malfoy slowly, and then again, in tones that sounded oddly interested. "Ohhhh."

"Shut up."

"All those years engaged and you never once--"

"No, all right? We wanted to wait." Harry suddenly felt like he might vomit. "I guess she didn't want to wait any longer."

"That _is_ rather faithless."

The comment wasn't just tactless; it was probably the worst thing Malfoy could have said.

"It's your fault!" shouted Harry, leaping to his feet. "We'd have been married by now and past all the awkwardness if you hadn't stuck your pointy nose in! I'd have been happy, instead of . . . instead of . . ."

All of a sudden he felt once more like he might cry. And that wasn't on. Not in front of Malfoy.

He'd rather blubber like a baby with Molly Weasley patting him kindly on the back than show Malfoy one-tenth about how much it fucking killed him to think that Ginny hadn't waited.

"I'm sorry she hurt you," said Malfoy quietly as he got to his own feet.

Harry almost spat at him. "You're the one who hurt me."

"I'm sorry about that too."

"But you'd do it again, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"And yet you expect me to trust you."

"I think I've given up on expecting it." Malfoy sighed. "If I ever did. I just know that if we don't find a way to trust one another, life as we know it . . . well, you've heard it all before."

"And you heard what I said. You're deluding yourself with fantasies of self-importance. You don't really See a thing."

Malfoy looked like he would reply to that, but in the end he merely pointed his wand at Harry and took them both back to the manor, not even giving Harry the choice of whether to clasp his arm for a Side Along.

But then, Harry wouldn't have clasped it.

And Malfoy knew that, so he did what he'd done all along, and didn't bother offering Harry any choice.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The Malfoys were waiting up for them when they returned, but they took one look at Harry's face and elected to say nothing.

For his part, Harry trudged up the stairs and threw himself into the bed fully clothed, not caring about anything. 

It was a relief when Malfoy went to sit in a chair by the window. He stared out at the stars, his fingers moving in slow circles. Harry watched him for a while, and then he turned away, but he didn't sleep. 

In the morning when he opened his eyes, Malfoy was still in the chair.

Better that than tangled around Harry like they usually woke up.

Breakfast was a tense affair. Harry knew he should be hungry, but he wasn't. He ate mechanically anyway, but everything tasted like cardboard. No matter that it was the same lovely food these people always ate.

The conversation buzzed around him, Mrs. Malfoy trying to draw him out; Harry ignored her. Once or twice Malfoy's father even tried. That was actually better, since Harry didn't feel bad about ignoring him.

When the cardboard food sat heavy enough in his stomach that one more bite would make him ill, he left without a word, trudged up the stairs, and flopped onto the bed again.

This time, at least he slept.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Days passed; Harry didn't know how many. Sometimes, he felt like he didn't even know who he was any longer. He'd spent so long thinking of his life as finally settled that now, with all his moorings ripped away, he didn't know how to find his bearings.

What had been the point of everything, then? He'd thought he'd have a fairy-tale ending, but instead he was trapped, running in place, getting nowhere and with no end in sight.

Malfoy tried to talk to him from time to time, but Harry ignored him so thoroughly that the other man finally gave up and left him alone.

Except for in bed. After that first night, Malfoy started sleeping alongside Harry again. They woke up wrapped around each other every morning, just like clockwork, and Harry found he couldn't care much about that either.

Nothing seemed to matter any longer, and not even Narcissa's gentle queries could make the slightest bit of difference, even if somewhere deep inside, Harry could appreciate the fact that she cared.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Perhaps it was the fact that he'd practically made himself invisible that made the difference. Harry didn't know. He just knew that the whole time he'd lived in this manor, the Floos had been warded against him. But wards on Floos were notoriously unreliable if not regularly renewed; the magic got disrupted every time the Floo was put to use.

Usually, when Harry so much as approached any of the Malfoys' Floos, the wards around it would sizzle. If he stepped closer, they would reach out and shove him away.

Until one day when he was walking along the edge of the library, looking at the books without really seeing them. They were just a blur of colors; he couldn't possibly contemplate caring enough about something to bother reading about it.

Without noticing, he stepped right onto the hearth of the library Floo, and was halfway across the vast expanse of marble before it occured to him that he should have been thrown aside long before.

The anomaly brought him up short and made him start thinking for the first time in days. The Floo wasn't warded at the moment? The protections had drained away and nobody had thought to renew them yet? Probably they would have, if Harry had been his usual noisy self about how much he wanted to get away.

But he'd been as silent as wraith, and now, the Floo was practically inviting him to step inside and drop a bit of powder. It was right there on the mantle, his for the taking.

So Harry took some, dropping it and speaking the first thing that came to mind. He didn't want to go home; Malfoy knew where he lived. And how could he bear to see the Burrow or even Shell Cottage, knowing as he did that now, he'd never really be a part of the Weasleys like he'd planned on for years?

Better to lose himself, he thought, pulling his robes around him like a cloak as he announced his destination.

"Diagon Alley!"

Flames roared up around him, blue and green and brilliant orange, smoke billowing up to make his hair fly upwards. He began to spin, flying past one hearth after another but then with a sickening _crack_ , an almighty tug yanked him forwards back into a roaring fire.

It caught on his robes, turning them into an inferno.

Harry screamed, stumbling forward to get away from the flames. Instinct had him falling to the ground, rolling back and forth, and then he lay panting, his whole right side feeling like it was still on fire, his robes smelling like burnt tar. Harry gagged at the stench even as he gasped for air.

He heard a rustling noise and saw blue satin slippers and above them, swishing robes so ethereal they looked made of frost.

And then his eyes rolled back in his head and darkness covered him like an eagle swooping down to scoop up prey.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Be still," said a soft voice, the tones tinkling like music, soothing him even though he really didn't understand the words. "You've been burnt but you're going to be fine. Just be still . . ."

A breeze caressed the length of one side, the skin on his ribs and thigh pebbling, though below that there was only a dull sensation of pain. Then something wet and cool coated him from armpit to hip, a wash of magic, but more than magic because it was physical, too, like a bandage had been laid down against him. The sensation repeated itself from hip to calf, and then he heard a chanting, as musical as the words had been before.

Now his side was solid, like it was encased in plaster, but this was plaster that drew out his pain and replaced it with that same sensation of a cool wetness, the process taking place in pulses until his side felt liquid and Harry sank into the cushions enclosing him and drifted away.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Be still," the voice said again, but this time Harry was more lucid and he could attach a name to the sounds. _Narcissa._

Harry cracked his eyes open, grateful that the room was bathed in soft light that didn't hurt them.

Silhouetted in it, her hair gleaming golden around the paleness of her face, Narcissa looked something like an angel. But that was all right. Harry remembered her voice chanting spells, her kind hands soothing him with potions, her fingers sweeping hair away from his face, and at that moment, she seemed like some kind of angel to him.

"The Floo," he said, mostly to prove to her that he was awake enough to understand what had happened.

"The _tether_ ," she corrected, anger edging the words. Yet when she wiped his face with a cool cloth, her touch was gentleness itself. "It dragged you back, which made the Floo mistake you for an intruder who had failed to escape the manor. The flames would not normally be that harsh, but the Floo was trying to punish you."

Harry weakly nodded and tried to shift his body.

"Be _still_ ," said Narcissa, shaking her head. "You will be well, but this sort of healing takes a little time."

Harry frowned. "Jus' a burn . . ."

"But from a magical flame."

"I can't just--"

"Yes, of course you can." Narcissa smiled at him. "But I would not wish you bored. I will read to you until you fall asleep. Fey stories, Harry. I somehow think your childhood lacked them."

"I don't need--"

"Of course you need them. They are part of your heritage as a wizard and long past due. You need do nothing but lie still and listen." 

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him, and Harry didn't know what else to do but nod, even though it felt wrong, somehow. _Dudley_ was the one who got to loll about in bed listening to stories when he was sick. Not Harry. Never Harry.

Until now.

Narcissa drew a book from inside the folds of her robes and opened it to a page marked with a glowing ribbon. When she sat down on a chair near his bedside, her robes settled in soft folds all around her. She looked at him just once, a slight smile hovering on her lips.

And then she began. "Once upon a time, long ago in the land of Nod, there lived a mage whose one wish was to leash the moon. For in those days, you see, the moon was wont to wander freely in the sky, sometimes straying far away like a crup without a master, sometimes amusing itself with vicious games of chasing children through the forest . . ."

Harry relaxed and listened to the smooth flow of her voice, interrupted only by the occasional turn of a page.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He must have drifted off again, because he could remember how the mage had leashed the moon and created the tides, but now it seemed like Narcissa was in the middle of a story about a herd of wild yaks who had some kind of an issue involving a farm girl and a windmill.

"Um?" he said, mostly because his mind felt so blank.

"There you are again," said Narcissa in warm, approving tones.

Harry blinked. "You kept reading even though you knew I was asleep?"

She gave a delicate little shrug. "The sound of my voice seemed to soothe you. Whenever I stopped, you grew restless."

"I'm sorry--"

"Do not be ridiculous. It was my pleasure," said Narcissa, just a touch of sharpness in her tone. "Now, it's time to change your plaster. Are you in much pain?"

"A bit," admitted Harry, even though it was more than that.

She gave him a critical look, but didn't comment. Instead, she rose gracefully from her chair and without a word of warning, peeled back the sheet from the side facing her. It was only then that Harry realized he was covered only by that sheet.

Yelping, he grabbed the edge and yanked it back down.

"You're going to be silly, then?"

"It's not silly to not want you to see my--" Harry coughed.

"I have no intention of seeing your," Narcissa imitated his cough, making him feel as silly as she'd said. "But you are burnt across the length of one side from ribs to calf. Wearing pants at the moment is not well-advised."

Harry thought of them chafing against the burn, which was hurting more the longer he thought about it, and tentatively nodded. But he didn't let go of the sheet.

Narcissa looked amused, but a moment later the expression changed to something far more like chastened. "By the other wand, I imagine that at his age, Draco would feel much the same, even though I fed him from my own breast."

Harry's face flamed. He _so_ did not need to know that.

Or see the images now flashing through his mind.

"Your mother did as well, I feel quite certain," said Narcissa placidly. "You would not be so powerful, otherwise. Now, I will leave for a moment while you arrange the sheet to your satisfaction, Harry. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yeah, all right."

She was as good as her word, knocking before she came in and waiting for him to assure her that he was ready. He still felt a little uncomfortable; with the sheet sort of tucked between his legs like that. He'd bunched it up on top of his bits so they wouldn't be outlined or anything, but it was still--

Then again, she did regard him as a son; Harry felt certain of that by now. It didn't help as much as it should, since Harry couldn't possibly think of her as his mother, but he could imagine that she was like a mother now. Or more than imagine.

Sometimes, she could give Molly Weasley a run for her money.

Harry squelched that thought fast, as it brought back too many memories of the things he could never have, now.

"You may feel some discomfort when I vanish the existing plaster," said Narcissa after she'd spent a moment looking critically at the places where the plaster met his skin. "But it should not be too severe. Thank Merlin's mighty beard, the burn has not continued to spread." 

He must have looked surprised, because she nodded and explained a little more. "Magical flames can be vicious. But perhaps the Floo sensed that you were not a terribly great threat to the family, for all you seemed to be escaping us." With that, she flourished her wand in a semicircular gesture, her eyes glittering in a way that Harry meant she was casting non-verbally.

The plaster slowly peeled back from the skin on his ribs, rolling itself up slightly, though the edge kept vanishing as it retreated down the length of his side. 

Narcissa had been right; his skin ached as the plaster peeled back, his body wanting to hang onto the comfort it had given. Harry bit his lip a couple of times as a particular bit of skin flared like acid had been poured on it. Then it was over, and he could breathe a sigh of relief.

Until, that was, some kind of magical breeze blew across his skin, making him realize that he was lying there half naked in front of Narcissa Malfoy. He coughed to cover his discomfort, and tried to pretend his side from shoulder to toe wasn't on display.

Not that it was much to look at. He stretched a little to see, and couldn't stop himself from making a face. At least he wasn't blackened and charred, but his side was dotted with huge splotches of dark green. The colored areas looked scaly, and when Harry looked at them for too long, he could swear the skin there looked like it was _crawling_.

_Ick_. He looked like someone in one of those horror films where the good guy turns into a snake or something.

He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if the green areas had spread the way Narcissa had mentioned.

She began to softly chant, the musical tones rising and falling in a regular cadence that Harry had heard through his dreams, and the little aches spearing his side here and there began to fade. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but didn't really feel right about everything until a new plaster settled against him, spreading cool wetness into his wounds.

Harry wasted no time in tugging the sheet back down so he was under it completely once again. 

"I will let Draco know that you are healing well," said Narcissa with a nod as she arranged her skirts and sank elegantly into the chair by his bedside.

Harry didn't want to ask, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Where is he, anyway?"

Narcissa's glance at him held more than a touch of grimness. "Doing penance."

_Penance?_ "You're kidding," said Harry blankly. "He's finally sorry that he kidnapped me?"

Somehow, he couldn't imagine that, not when Malfoy had been so sure, all along, that kidnapping Harry was somehow necessary if the world was going to avoid Armageddon.

"He's deeply sorry that he neglected to care for you properly," corrected Narcissa. "It was his decision to bring you into the family. For him to allow you to be wounded in this manner is simply unconscionable. Lucius and I were furious with him, though Draco hardly needed our outrage to trigger his guilt. He was devastated when he saw the state you were in." She folded her hands, but not before Harry had spotted them trembling a little. "The Floo wards are the responsibility of the scion. I still cannot believe he was quite so irresponsible."

Harry wasn't sure why he said what he did. "I should have remembered there was a tether."

"You were in no fit state to remember much at all," said Narcissa gently. "But then, neither was Draco, not when he was so worried about you. I suppose I must forgive him, but it is . . . difficult."

"You can forgive him." Harry sighed. "After all, he's your son, and I'm just--"

"My son as well, for all you are a stubborn Gryffindor." She looked steadily at him, until Harry found he had to look away.

And push her away. Somehow. Because he couldn't bear this. She shouldn't look on him like that. Not like that, with a hint of something that might be love, but was deep affection at the very least.

Harry challenged her with a stare. "I'm a half-blood too, don't forget. By your own values, I shouldn't even exist, so I know you can't really have welcomed me into your family."

"Please remind me when I have ever discussed my values with you," said Narcissa, a trifle coldly. Harry hated that. He wanted the warmth back. "To my own recollection, the only value I ever clearly expressed to you was love for my son."

"You were awful to me and my friends in Diagon Alley--"

"You drew your wand on Draco!"

"You called Hermione scum!"

"I was actually reffering to _all_ of you as scum, and not because of blood. You entered a shop and threatened my son, who was doing nothing more offensive than having new robes fitted!"

"Draco had just called Hermione a Mudblood!"

"And you," said Narcissa smoothly, "called my husband a 'loser' and intimated that I would soon be in Azkaban beside him. Yet I did not draw a wand upon you, let alone brandish it with repeated threats to cast. I stand by my assessment that you and your friend Weasley behaved like hooligans that day. Nor was Draco much better. In truth, the most civilized young person in the shop that day was Hermione Granger."

Harry wasn't about to let that mollify him. "I know you think less of her for not having wizarding parents."

"I did." Narcissa lifted a hand and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face. "I was raised to think that way. I would no more have questioned it than I would have challenged my parents' choice of husband for me. It was only when the Dark Lord gave Draco an impossible assignment and threatened death for failure that I began to think for myself."

That brought Harry up short. "And what did you conclude?"

"When it comes to Muggleborns I still have no idea what to think," Narcissa admitted with a frown. "Magic should not appear from nowhere."

"But it does."

"Obviously," she drawled. "I cannot help but think it a trifle unnatural, but at least I recognize that now as my problem and not hers. As for half-bloods such as yourself . . ." Narcissa smiled a little. "It goes against everything I was ever taught to admit it, Harry, but I find myself having to accept the idea of 'hybrid vigor.' What else can explain the fact that two of the three strongest wizards of the age were half-blooded?"

Harry gaped. "Where did you hear a term like 'hybrid vigor?'"

"I do read, you realize."

" _Muggle science books?_ "

"No, but I read a rather pointed editorial published by your friend shortly after the war ended."

Right. Harry remembered that one.

Well, vaguely. Hermione wrote a lot of things, after all.

Something else was niggling at his consciousness, though. "But you argued with Malfoy. About the adoption. You didn't want me in your family."

"I certainly didn't want him to corrupt a time-honoured tradition among purebloods---"

"By adopting a half-blood!" Harry almost added _ha!_ to the end of that.

"By adopting a wizard without his knowledge," corrected Narcissa, shaking her head. "That is not correct at all. Even when recalcitrant children were adopted to end blood feuds, they were never kept in ignorance."

"Oh."

Narcissa leaned forward in her chair. "I need say nothing more, but because I sense that you appreciate honesty, I will tell you the rest. Both Lucius and I were disturbed by Draco's plans for another reason. You, of course, are hailed as the savior of the world, and rightfully so. If you could proudly proclaim yourself a Malfoy as well as the son of James and Lily Potter, it could only do the family good. But neither Lucius nor myself could imagine that such a thing could come to pass, not even if you had been adopted in a more . . . customary manner."

"So?"

" _So,_ " Narcissa said, sighing, "sooner or later you will go out into the wider world again. And you now have within your purview the power to do us great harm, should you choose. This has disturbed me from the outset. The primary task of the scion Malfoy is to raise the reputation of the family, and Draco, I fear, may have ruined us worse than Lucius ever did. Our fate is in your hands, now."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "He should have thought of that before he showed up at my wedding."

"He did." Narcissa met his gaze. "He thought on it for months, but in the end he said it mattered not if the family name rose to prominence in a world laid waste by the end of time."

"And he said that if he pulled off this Seer thing and saved the world, nothing could be better for that name, no matter what he'd done to Harry Potter," added Harry shrewdly. He knew Malfoy, all right.

"Yes, he did say something like that as well, though in his account _you_ are the one who will save the world . . . but with some form of participation from him."

"He's a zealot." Which reminded Harry. "What's his penance, anyway?"

"You will have to ask him that. But I don't expect that he'll tell you."

"But you know?"

Narcissa nodded. "But I would no more break faith with him than I will break it with you. I have only once broken faith with you, Harry."

Harry thought back, but didn't know what she meant.

"I told you that day in the robes shops that if you attacked Draco again, it would be the last thing you ever did. You did attack him, quite grieviously. In a bathroom, of all places."

Harry gulped. He still didn't like to think of how Malfoy had looked, lying on the cold stone floor as he bled out.

Narcissa reached out and stroked a single finger down his cheek, her voice soft when she spoke again. "I am content to have broken that single faith with you, Harry. You saved us all, in the end. I know now that neither Lucius nor Draco would have prospered or even lived long had the Dark Lord won the day."

With that, she was gone, and Harry was left alone in the room -- one he had never seen before, he realized.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry dozed for a while, then woke up again to find a book on his night table. He thought that reaching over to it would strain his side and maybe tear the strange burns open, but then he noticed his wand laid close alongside his right hand. 

Huh.

Harry remembered seeing it last on the night table. He didn't know who had come in and made sure he could reach it without difficulty. Narcissa, most likely, at least as long as Malfoy was still doing this "penance," whatever it was.

One levitation charm later, and he was examining the top book on the pile. It wasn't exactly what he'd call a little light reading, for all it was a slim volume that weighed just a few ounces at most. The title alone gave the book a rather grim presence.

_Befouling the Dark_

Even more alarming, when Harry tried to flip the cover open, a strange _frisson_ of energy coursed up his arm. But then the book flipped open on its own, and Harry reasoned that the spell must have examined him to see if he was "worthy" or some such claptrap.

Apparently, he was.

Hmm. The book turned out to be about making dark spells commit suicide by tricking it into eddies and whirlpools that more-or-less sucked them out of existence. Tricky stuff, most of it based on rituals that looked like they'd have been arcane a thousand years ago, but it made for some interesting reading.

He laid the book aside when a sharp knock sounded on the door. "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal Mr. Malfoy, who regarded him in silence for a moment before asking, "May I enter?"

Harry shrugged. "It's your house."

"In truth, it is Draco's," he murmured. "However, I will assume you meant the comment as assent."

He said nothing more until he was seated in the chair Narcissa had used, and then, it was only a single stilted question. "You are feeling better, I trust?"

Harry wasn't sure why the inquiry annoyed him. "Oh, much. I love getting yanked into roaring magical fires that try to punish me for leaving a place I don't belong in the first place!"

"We have had strong words with our other son," said Mr. Malfoy in a stern voice. "But I have words for you as well--"

_Other son_. "Let's get that out of the way," interrupted Harry. "Malfoy's not here right now, and neither is your wife, so there's no reason to pretend. I think we both know that you only have one son."

Mr. Malfoy folded his hands together and raised a single eyebrow in a gesture that was creepily reminiscent of Snape. "So you still refuse to believe that Draco used an adoption ritual?"

"I believe it, but it doesn't mean anything to me. You must feel the same. I know you can't possibly _really_ regard me as a son. Me? Come on."

Mr. Malfoy took a moment to respond, like he was choosing his words carefully. "I can, though it surprises me not at all that you would disbelieve me. We have never had an easy relationship, you and I--"

"That's putting it mildly," scoffed Harry. "You tried to kill me, more than once! You were practically _slobbering_ at the prospect of turning me over to Voldemort that time the snatchers brought me here!"

"I never slobber."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yes," acknowledged Mr. Malfoy slowly. "We were on opposite sides of a war."

"That excuses you, does it? At least your wife redeemed herself a little, helping me in the forest so I wouldn't get killed again. Even though she did it for Malfoy, it still counts for something with me. But you?" Harry scoffed again.

"Now that you are my son--"

"I'm _not_ your son! I know you can't think of me that way!"

"Not as I think of Draco, no," admitted Malfoy. "I feel towards you more as though you are my son long estranged." 

That wasn't exactly what Harry was hoping to hear. For one thing, it sounded like it might be true. 

_Fuck._ He didn't want Malfoy thinking of him as a son at all, not even as an estranged one.

"I do wish you didn't hate me."

"I don't _hate_ you, exactly. You aren't important enough for that." Harry's nostrils flared. "I guess it takes a lot to make me hate. I don't even really hate your son, and he's done more lately to deserve it."

Mr. Malfoy leaned forward a fraction. "I would like for us to find a way to be less estranged."

"Good luck with that one."

The man's pale hair swayed as he shook his head. "The adoption magic has made you one of us, and that is not something a Malfoy can ever take lightly."

"Right, because family is so important," said Harry, sneering. "How am I supposed to take that seriously? You turned your back on family who left the pureblood fold!"

"You speak of Andromeda?" Malfoy shrugged. "She never was a Malfoy, Harry, and she and Narcissa had always had . . . issues, with one another. It's not my place to say more than that."

Harry wasn't about to let him slide out of that so easily. "Fine. What if _you'd_ had a sister who married a Muggleborn or a half-blood? What would you have done?"

"Probably much what Narcissa did."

Ha!

"But I would not do the same thing today."

_Crap!_

Malfoy shrugged. "It would not be my decision in any case, as I am no longer the scion Malfoy. And Draco, I know, thinks highly enough of you that he cannot believe in the tenets of blood purity as he once did."

"And you?"

A slight smile lurked about the corners of his eyes. "How can I be dogmatic now? My own son is a half-blood."

It was impossible to argue with these people, Harry decided. 

"The library wards themselves recognize the fact," added Malfoy with a gesture toward the book Harry had laid aside. "No-one but family can open many of our tomes, that one included."

"And you put it here so you could see if I'd be rejected, because that would let you off the hook--"

" _Au contraire,_ I put it there because I thought it might be of use. Narcissa and I are concerned that you return to the Aurors prepared to battle dark wizards. I never had the slightest doubt that the book would accept you as family."

The book _had_ looked like it could come in handy.

"Why don't the Aurors have anything like that in their own research library?" he asked, exasperated.

Malfoy's tone was perfectly blithe. "Rank prejudice."

"You're a fine one to talk!"

"Yes, I know I am." Again, that very slight smile. "It would please me if you would make the book your own, Harry. And anything else in our library that you think may serve you in future. There is nothing within the Manor that is barred to you."

"Except the bloody Floo!"

"That is for your safety, as you have learnt."

Which reminded Harry. "Is Malfoy really doing some kind of penance for getting me burned? And what is it?"

"He will have to tell you that. Or not, as he decides."

Harry hadn't really expected anything else. "Well . . . thank you for the book, then."

He didn't know if that would get the man to leave, but it might be worth a try.

Or it might not, since Malfoy crossed one slim leg over the other as if settling in.

"Actually, I came to tell you something. Even though I know my words will be unwelcome and most likely met with hostility, it is still my responsibility to speak them. As a man with your best interests in mind, I can do no less."

At least he hadn't claimed again that he looked on Harry as a son. And whatever he had to say, it was best to get it over with, Harry decided. "Yes?"

"Your injury was due to reprehensible carelessness on the part of the scion Malfoy, true. I will never dispute it. But your own mood also contributed to the incident. Had you not been so despondent, you would never have forgotten the tether binding you to your brother."

"So I'm to blame, am I?" asked Harry, pushing up on his hands a little as outrage shot through him.

"That is not my point."

"Then what is?"

Malfoy leaned closer still, his grey eyes glittering almost in challenge. "You are foolish to let this loss affect you so deeply. The young lady has shown herself unworthy of your regard. She is beneath you in every way.

Harry was so astonished that he forgot to be angry about the slight to Ginny. "She's a pureblood!"

Those eyes glittered still more. "And _beneath_ you."

Oh. Harry got it, then. "Why, because of that 'you're a Malfoy, now' claptrap?"

"No," said Malfoy sharply. "Because of other factors. Tell me, Harry. If Draco had vanished with _her_ after talk of enslavement, and you were the one magically constrained from communicating this fact in any way, would you content yourself with two short visits to the Manor's gates?"

"No, but--"

"Would you allow yourself to be denied entrance?"

"No, but--"

"Would you have turned in solace to another woman--"

"No--"

"--getting her with child within a mere three months?"

"No, but Ginny isn't me!" exclaimed Harry.

"Indeed not." Malfoy sat back again. "It is as I said. The young lady is utterly beneath you. The loss of such a . . . creature should not trouble you in the slightest."

"Don't call her that!"

"Please believe me when I say that I was exercising the very greatest of restraint. I should like to call her far worse."

"And you're the one who lectured Malfoy that he ought to hold back!"

Malfoy's voice rose a full increment. "That was before she hurt my son. But you should not give her this power to wound you. She does not deserve it."

"Look, Ginny hasn't trained to be an Auror," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "I kept her away from battle as much as I could, even. So maybe it's my fault that she didn't storm your gates or whatever else it is you were expecting her to do."

"She could not have breached the Manor's wards, though it reflects badly on her that she never so much as tried." Malfoy's voice went utterly cold. "She could, however, have stayed loyal. It was the least she owed you. The very least."

"She thought I was lost to her forever!" snapped Harry.

"Would you have given up on freeing _her_? Ever?"

"Get out."

"Would you?"

"Get out!"

Malfoy rose then, unfolding himself from the chair like a wisp of smoke uncurling itself. "I will leave you to rest. Is there anything you need?"

"Except my freedom? You can get out like I said."

The door closed softly behind him, and then Harry was left alone with a single word clanging through his head.

The answer to Malfoy's question.

_Never._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Malfoy didn't show up for several days, which made Harry wonder more than ever what this mysterious "penance" might be. In the meantime, the prat's mother and father were frequent visitors.

Since pushing them away hadn't seemed to do much to discourage them, Harry more or less got used to them coming around. Ever since the final battle, it had been difficult to think of Narcissa as his enemy. Now, that was becoming more and more true of Lucius Malfoy as well. Harry couldn't help but remember how defeated the man had looked sittng at that table in the Great Hall, huddled with his wife and son. 

And how defeated he'd looked when Voldemort had taken his wand away, too.

It wasn't as though he was a new man or anything like that, but he definitely wasn't as dogmatic as he'd once been. He was willing to sit with Harry for several hours a day, discussing Dark Arts and defence. Frequently those conversations ran square into Harry's ignorance of aspects of the wizarding world, but Malfoy had never once insulted him for that, or even made disparaging remarks about his upbringing among Muggles.

Though he did speak rather scathingly about the state of Auror training, clearly believing that it should delve far deeper into the Dark Arts than it did. A superficial understanding of them, he argued, was not conducive to an adequate defense. 

Harry hated to agree with him on anything . . . but he couldn't argue that point.

Narcissa continued to treat his burn as it receded. Harry had expected that, and it wasn't such a big imposition after the first couple of days, since after that he could wear a bit more in the way of clothes. 

What he hadn't expected was that she'd read him more fey stories. He objected at first, thinking it was silly, but she just looked at him calmly until he relented.

And the truth was, a tiny part of him liked hearing those stories. They reminded him of the times Aunt Petunia had read to Dudley. Storytime hadn't just been when his cousin was sick; it had come most days at bedtime, too, until Dudley was at least ten years old.

Harry had sometimes heard parts of those stories because he wasn't done with his chores. Actually, he'd lingered over his chores so that he could lurk around corners and listen. The minute Aunt Petunia had spotted him, he'd been sent off. Rarely had he ever heard the end of a story.

Now, however, he could lie back and bask, knowing that the story Narcissa was reading was just for _him_. He knew it was stupid and childish of him to let that matter quite so much, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. The stories felt almost like something he could hug.

But of course, he would tell himself sternly whenever she came in, they were important for his education as a wizard. Every pureblood and almost every half-blood knew exactly what "peat in a pickle," meant; Harry had had to ask. That had worked all right when Harry had been in school; Ron could always fill him in on things like that, but then Ron had left Auror training to partner with George in the joke shop. 

Harry didn't want to make his ignorance obvious to anyone but Ron. 

If he listened to enough of the stories that made up a large part of a common wizarding culture, though . . . maybe he wouldn't have to.

When a little voice in his head told him that he could read fey stories on his own, he told it to shut up. 

A knock sounded on his door, but it wasn't Lucius' rather abrupt one or Narcissa's gentle tapping. Which could only mean one thing. "Come in, Malfoy."

Huh. No scars that Harry could see.

Not that he'd really have wanted Malfoy's "penance" to be violent. Harry didn't _really_ want that, even if some vengeance fantasies did cross his mind every now and then.

Malfoy took one step inside the room, but came no further. "How are you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. 

Malfoy closed the door and leaned against it, his posture stiff. When Harry looked closely, he didn't think it was due to mental discomfort. Not completely, at any rate.

"I heard you were doing penance. Is that true?"

Malfoy didn't take the question as an invitation to spill all, but gave a sharp nod.

"What was it?"

"I can't talk about it."

Harry crossed his arms. "I think the least you can do is tell me. After all, you're the reason I got burned to a crisp."

"I think that also had something to do with your stubborn depression over a woman who hardly deserves to be mourned."

Harry had come much to the same conclusion about Ginny after he'd had several days to ponder Lucius Malfoy's remarks on the subject. But that didn't mean he was going to let Malfoy know he'd moved on. Draco Malfoy was the last person on earth he'd ever take into his confidence. 

"I think I wouldn't have had a reason to be depressed if you hadn't absconded with my life in the first place!"

"True, but you know I had little choice in that."

"I know you think you had little choice," corrected Harry coldly. "And I know that you drilled a new well in Africa to convince your supposed Seer powers to tell you something new that might convince me you have a shred of ability to tell the future. And so?"

"You can't be serious."

"Of course I'm serious! Well? Is it going to rain tomorrow? Oh, wait, we're in southern England. Sorry, Malfoy, I suppose that won't prove much--"

"I don't expect to See much for a while," Malfoy cut in, his tone saying that was an end to the matter.

The hell with that.

"Then what was that expedition to Burkina Faso about, eh? Just showing off? Just trying to convince me what a grand bloke you are, drilling water wells for the less fortunate? Fuck you!"

"I _thought_ it would be conducive to the Sight," said Malfoy from behind clenched teeth. "But then we came home and events spiraled out of control. I couldn't concentrate while you were so distraught! And then you got hurt and it was _my_ fault, and I've been able to See fuck-all since then!"

"Oh, were you trying to See something?" Harry snorted. "And there I thought you were doing penance. But of course you weren't, since you can't tell me about it."

"I can't tell you about it because the magic won't allow it," said Malfoy, sighing.

"You love to brag. Why choose a penance like that?"

"The penitent can't choose! The magic chose for me! All _I_ could do was cast the spell and wait!"

" _Right._ That doesn't sound much like you, casting a spell that might do God-knows-what!"

"I know," said Malfoy drily. "You're the one who does things like that."

"But you really did it?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned. "And the magic could have done anything?"

"It can't kill." Malfoy winced. "But it can take a limb if it wants to. Or inflict pain, or force the penitent to . . . do things."

"And in your case?"

"I can't tell you anything except that it punished me as it saw fit and then made it so I can't tell anyone the details."

"Is that last part normal?"

"No, but it's not unknown, either."

Harry gave up on trying to find out what Malfoy's penance was, then. "Why would you subject yourself to that? Was it to enhance your Seer powers?"

Malfoy's posture relaxed a little. "No. I did it because I failed in my duty as the scion Malfoy. The keeping of the wards is my responsibility, and that my brother should be harmed through my carelessness . . ." He shrugged. "It's not to be borne. I wanted to come and see how you were, but I wasn't fit to enter your presence until I'd suffered whatever the scion magic wished to hand me." His tone suddenly grew anxious. "Our parents _have_ been seeing to you, haven't they?"

" _Your_ parents have, yes," said Harry, shaking his head. "Your mother's taken good care of me. And your father's been surprisingly decent. It's sort of sad, in a way."

"Sad?"

Harry gave him a look. "They both seem convinced that I'm going to be an Auror. But you and I know differently, don't we? You're never going to let go of this delusion."

"You'll be an Auror again." Malfoy gave him a steady look. "That much I can See. But it won't be until the Path branches that way. And since you trust me not at all . . ."

"Oh, you'll let me go if I trust you?" asked Harry with false brightness. "Why, there it is! I understand everything now! You're the strongest Seer the world has ever known and of course I'll be there for you or whatever when the world's about to end! I don't know why it took me so long to come around, but that's a Gryffindor for you, I suppose. No need to tether me now--"

"You'd have been eaten alive in Slytherin. Either that, or you'd have learned to lie."

Harry blew out a breath. "Look, if it's going to save the world like you say, of course I'll come help you, all right? And even if you don't believe me, so what? You can just reinstate the tether and drag me back--"

"No, I can't." Malfoy looked sour about it. "When the child has adjusted to the adoption and the controls are released, it's a permanent transition. Irrevocable, just like the adoption itself. So I daren't release the tether until you see yourself as a Malfoy--"

"In other words, I'm fucked for life!"

Malfoy's voice grew pleading. "But Harry, If you'd just try to become reconciled to the situation--"

Harry growled, low in his throat. "Get your pointy face out of my room. And send your mother in with my sleeping potion."

Malfoy took a step forward. "Are you in so much pain that you can't sleep?"

"No!" snapped Harry. He didn't want anyone to think of him as weak, especially not Malfoy. 

"Then why the potion?"

"None of your fucking business. So don't tell her. I don't care. I'd rather lie awake than take anything from you, anyway!"

"Harry--"

"Get out!"

" _Harry--_ "

Harry snatched up the fattest book on his night table. He had several there, thanks to Lucius. "Get out or I'll throw this! So if you _don't_ want to see it sail back and slam me in the head--"

Malfoy pressed his lips together, nodded tightly, and left.

Harry dropped the book, his hand shaking when he realized what he'd done. What was wrong with him? The last thing he should do is give Malfoy one more reason to keep him well-tethered. 

If the tether ever came off, though . . . Harry could throw a book and make it stick. Or better yet, a fist. Or a hex.

But that, of course, only explained why the damned tether was never, ever going to come off.

Sighing, Harry sank down into his pillows and waited for Narcissa to come with his nightly dose.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry didn't know why exactly, but Malfoy seemed to have given up on his asinine plan to keep Harry tethered to his bed at night. Or maybe he just thought that Harry still needed to sleep alone because of his injury, but that hardly made sense. His burn was practically healed already; all that remained of it was a faint sheen of green underneath his skin, and even that was fading more with each passing day.

Harry had been getting up and taking short walks around the garden for exercise, and it had been days since he started joining the family for meals, and still, Malfoy was keeping his distance.

So to speak. He did come in to talk with Harry every day, but since Harry was very uncommunicative, to say the least, those talks didn't go anywhere. 

Besides sleeping arrangements, though, one other thing had changed: Malfoy was behaving very oddly at meal times.

It was beyond strange. Whereas before, he'd ordered alphabet soup a ridiculous amount of the time, now it seemed to be all he wanted to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Except, he didn't want to eat it. He just stirred and stirred it, staring down into his bowl with such concentration that Harry couldn't fail to get the message. 

Malfoy treated alphabet soup like a crystal ball.

He was obviously looking for messages in the letters floating in the broth -- except that they were runes, Harry soon saw when he got a clear glimpse. 

In Harry's opinion, it was even stupider than trying to read tea leaves, because after all, the runes in the soup were only there because the chef had put them there. If he put a lot of "rainstorm" ones in, did it mean there was going to be a rainstorm?

It was idiotic, but Malfoy certainly appeared to be taking it seriously. He kept looking and looking for messages, and the disgusted way he would shove his bowl away without eating much of it said more clearly than words that he wasn't seeing any. 

Even though Harry didn't believe in this Seer soup nonsense, he still felt vindicated. And what was more, he saw no reason not to say so.

"I guess drilling water wells all over Africa isn't enough of a worthy deed to make up for stealing a person's whole life," he jeered, stabbing his steak with relish, hoping Malfoy wanted _it_ instead of the soup he seemed so determined to stick with. "Even the fates know better than to send the likes of you any messages!"

"Shows what you know," muttered Malfoy, dipping his soup spoon and eating a large mouthful. 

"I'll tell you what I know," snarled Harry. "That's why you stir your fingers all the time, isn't it? You're thinking back to your soup and trying to puzzle out some message from the great beyond. Except there isn't one, is there? Not for a complete shit like you!"

"That will be quite enough, Harry," said Narcissa in a stern tone. "We don't tolerate foul language at the table."

"I don't see why not, as you obviously tolerate foul people--"

"Children can be decidedly foul," said Mr Malfoy. "As both of you are being."

"Both of us!" snapped Malfoy. 

"Yes, both of you," retorted Lucius. "You don't say three words during meals any longer. Perhaps your mood is responsible for your powers waning at present. Have you thought of that?"

"No," said Malfoy through gritted teeth. "Please do excuse me."

A moment later he was gone, his soup sitting forlornly where he had left it.

Harry ate another big bite of steak to celebrate the git's being gone.

"Oh, Harry," said Narcissa sadly. "I do wish you could get on better with Draco."

"Not going to happen," said Harry, eating another bite for good measure. Every bite was like flinging another insult at Malfoy, which only made each one more delicious than the last. 

"Did you not understand me a few days ago, Harry?" asked Lucius, throwing his napkin down onto his plate.

"Oh sure, I did." Harry shrugged. He tried not to think of Ginny much these days, because when he did, all he did was wonder how Draco Malfoy could have seen her true colors when her own fiancé hadn't. Malfoy had somehow sensed her fickleness -- but not through reading the truth in his soup. It must have been instinct of some kind. Intuition. "You know what, though? Ginny doing me wrong doesn't make me fond of being held captive!"

The steak he'd eaten suddenly felt like lumps of charcoal in his gut. 

Shoving his chair back, he got the hell out of their dining room.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Breakfast the next morning was tense, and lunch wasn't much better.

It was at dinner that things got interesting.

Malfoy had soup as usual and kept mororsely staring down into it, stirring and stirring and stirring.

Harry tried his best to enjoy his own food, but wasn't having much success.

Lucius and Narcissa kept trying to draw them into conversation, but Harry had nothing to say and Draco had attention for nothing but his soup, even though he wasn't eating it at all. 

His eyes were narrowed, his grip on his spoon so tight that his knuckles had gone white as bone as he stared down.

And then he bared his teeth and muttered, "No, no, no--"

In the next moment, the soup in his bowl reared up like a geyser, splashing upwards as a thunderclap seemed to split the room. 

Malfoy ended up drenched in yellow broth, runes carved out of both vegetables and pasta sticking to his robes, face, and hair.

As Lucius exclaimed something and Narcissa threw herself from her chair towards him, Harry burst out laughing. 

"Shut up," snarled Malfoy, glaring.

"The hell I will. It's about time I had some accidental magic on my side--"

"It wasn't accidental." Malfoy suddenly looked defeated. He batted away his mother's wand and cast a cleaning spell on himself.

"Yeah? Well, it sure was marvelous!"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "I imagine so. Here's something else marvelous, then." With a sudden slashing movement, he conjured a wide blue ribbon that started at Harry's chest and unfurled itself towards Malfoy's. 

"Oh my darling," cried Narcissa. "Are you certain? Is it not too soon? Have you considered how Harry--"

Lucius, in contrast, sat back in his chair, his expression stoic and watchful.

Malfoy looked straight at Harry, and then slashed his wand downward in a vicious arc. 

The ribbon split in two, fluttered to the floor, and slowly vanished. 

Harry stared. "Was that--"

"The tether, yes," said Malfoy, his hands shaking so much that his wand clattered free to land on the table. "You're free to go. Just . . . go."

Harry almost did, but then he remembered. "I want my wand!"

Malfoy's hands started shaking even harder. He thrust them under the table.

Lucius stood and cast a summoning charm, easily catching Harry's holly wand when it sailed toward him. 

Harry half-expected him to pocket it, but instead the man walked toward him and held it out, only speaking when Harry's hand touched the grip. "Good health and fortune," he said, the words settling between them like a sheen of gossamer.

Harry didn't reply, except to hold the hawthorn wand out for Lucius to take.

"No," said Malfoy from the table, his voice low and strained. "You . . . you keep that."

"I don't want it," said Harry, and then, because he finally _could_ , he threw the wand straight at Malfoy's face, putting everything he had into the motion, hoping he'd smash bone.

One crack of wood against flesh later, and Malfoy was clutching at his face, blood spurting from between his fingers. 

Narcissa made a high sound of distress.

Harry braced himself to spin around.

"Harry," said Lucius in an urgent tone. "Do-- do visit."

"When Hell freezes solid," spat Harry.

And then he spun around and was gone.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Settling back into his former life was easier than Harry had expected. Of course, it wasn't very pleasant having people think he'd been dumped at the altar, but better that than they know about the way he'd been duped.

Although, now that Ginny was married to Dean, people pretty much assumed that Harry had been duped in another way. From a few of the less tactful things he heard, the general assumption was that she'd been sleeping with Dean all through their engagement, and so of course she got cold feet when it came to the wedding ceremony itself. "She did you a favor" seemed to be a general theme in some quarters, though people were very quick to add that she certainly shouldn't have done it like that, so publicly. She should have told Harry privately, long before the ceremony was planned, that she just couldn't go through with it.

Some people even said they understood why she hadn't, though. Harry was, after all, the "Chosen One" who had lived up to everyone's expectations. The Savior of the World, they called him, and wealthy into the bargain. And Ginevra had hero-worshipped him for years, and grown up desperately poor, so of course she had stars in her eyes and had a hard time choosing true love with Dean over a life of glamour with Harry.

Which didn't excuse her disgraceful behavior, etc, etc, etc.

It made Harry pretty sick, actually, how much people he hardly knew wanted to commisserate with him and pick Ginny's motivations apart, though perhaps "hardly knew" was a bit of exaggeration. He'd spent years in Auror training with some of these people, and then a few months on the job. They probably thought they knew him well; they probably even thought they were supporting him when they criticized Ginny.

But it still made Harry sick to hear it and it was a relief when it tapered off.

His real friends, the ones who had been with him through thick and thin, just smiled sadly at him and hugged him and said that they were very happy that he'd come back. 

Ron had cleared his throat and said, rather gruffly, that his parents had mentioned Harry had stopped by the Burrow. 

"Yeah," said Harry.

"So you know-- all about--"

Harry nodded.

No point in Ron saying he was sorry. It was there in his eyes, and anyway, it wasn't his fault.

Hermione moved them past the awkward moment. "Where did you go, then, Harry?"

Harry wasn't about to say. Not only did he not want people to know he'd been adopted into the sodding Malfoy family, he also thought it reflected pretty badly on him as an Auror that he'd ended up a captive like that. "Here and there," he said, shrugging off the question. "I just . . . I had to stay away, you know?" A flash of inspiriation had him adding, "I spent some time in Burkina Faso helping a crew put down a water well."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Hermione beamed at him. "Tell me all about it!"

They spent the rest of the evening discussing problems in developing nations, which was fine by Harry, even though it made Ron roll his eyes.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The only difficulty Harry had adjusting back to his regular life came from Bartholmew Bladderstail, the head of MLE.

"Potter," the man had said, looking more than a little put out when Harry had appeared in his office the morning after Malfoy had freed him. "You've got a nerve."

Harry kept his expression calm, but grimaced inside. Damn it, he'd known that that stupid letter wasn't going to go over so well. And sure enough, it hadn't.

"It's one thing to have a leave of absence for your honeymoon. It's not even surprising you'd still want the time after--" Bladderstail coughed instead of completing the sentence, which Harry appreciated. "But to simply announce to me, _via owl_ , that you're taking yet more time? Without so much as a by your leave? Unacceptable, Potter. Un-ac-ceptable."

"Yes, sir," said Harry gravely. What else was he going to reply? He agreed!

"The Ministry invests a fair few years training each lot of new Aurors," Bladderstail went on. "I don't like to think it's all been wasted on you, if you're going to take such a lackadaisical approach to your responsibilities."

"Yes, sir."

Bladderstail stared hard, like he was expecting Harry to start arguing soon. "Are you, or are you not aware of the proper procedure for requesting leave?"

"Yes, I am."

"And yet you chose to disregard it."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir. I apologize. If you--" This was hard, but he had to say it. "If you want my resignation, I'll--"

"Oh, don't be an idiot. If I was going to sack you, I'd have done it already." Bladderstail narrowed his eyes. "But you knew that, I think. You knew that your name was too prominent for me to let you go."

"I didn't think of it that way," said Harry honestly. Malfoy had, but Harry hadn't. "I was just . . . very upset."

"Believe it or not, I do understand that, Potter." The man's face softened marginally. "This is your first real job, I think?"

Harry nodded.

Bladderstail sighed, folding his wiry hands together on his desk as his pale brown eyes assessed Harry. "A bit of irresponsibility at your age is quite normal. I'm quite used to young Aurors owling in sick more than they ought, and thinking that some of our procedures can be bypassed, and the like. The ones that are meant for this line of work grow up. The others, I do sack. I hope I'm making myself clear, Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because as far as I'm concerned, you've used up your irresponsibility quota in one fell swoop." When Harry didn't argue, the man's tone softened again. "At least you had more cause than most. I'm sure this entire experience has been . . . difficult."

Harry gave a curt nod. 

"Well, then. We'll say no more about your way of dealing with it. You're back now, and I expect you'll become an exemplary Auror with time. Now, your assignment." Bladderstail rifled through a sheaf of parchments and passed one across the desk to Harry. "Current pairings. As you can see, your initial partner has now been paired with Sarah Paynes-Aldridge, who was slated to cover for you during your leave. When you didn't return I had little option but to make the arrangement permanent."

Harry just waited.

"Which leaves you without a partner, I'm afraid." Bladderstail gave him a hard look. "But that's all to the good, as far as I'm concerned. You should be on light duty until I see how you bear up under stress, given all that's happened."

From the head Auror's perspective, Harry knew that made good sense. All he knew was that he had an Auror so devastated at his wedding going awry that he'd run off for months, abandoning his job in the process. There was really very little reason for Bladderstail to trust Harry with an important assignment at this point.

If only Harry could tell him the truth-- but no, on balance, Harry thought he'd rather be thought jilted at the altar than adopted by the Malfoys.

"I understand. So . . . light duty?"

"Public relations. Representing MLE, that sort of thing."

Harry managed not to cringe.

Except, he didn't quite manage it, since Bladderstail gave him a critical glance. "Yes, I know you stated in your interview that you preferred not to be singled out. But I'm afraid you did this to yourself when you ignored proper procedure for requesting additional leave. You'll work light duty until I say otherwise. Is that clear, Potter?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Very well, then. You can start in the file room; there's always plenty to do there, and when we need you to represent MLE, my assistant will be in touch."

_The file room._ Harry sighed inwardly and got up to leave. 

"Oh, and Potter?" Bladderstail stood up too. "It won't be forever."

Nodding, Harry turned and headed down the long hall to the room that all the Aurors jokingly called Outer Mongolia.

oOoOoOoOoOo

His home, of course, was just as he'd left it. Kreacher hadn't been a dab-hand at house cleaning during Sirius' long absence from Number Twelve, but in the years since the defeat of Voldemort, Harry and the cantankerous elf had learned to get along. Dumbledore had been wrong about a lot of things, but when it came to Kreacher . . . yeah. A few kind words and he was more than happy to cook Harry's meals and keep his house relatively tidy.

He'd kept it up while Harry had gone missing, but Harry had to think that if he'd been held captive in Malfoy Manor for over a decade . . . well, but he hadn't. That was the point.

Interesting point, though. _Why_ had Malfoy let him go? Why at that exact moment, when he'd just been drenched in soup?

_Revenge of the Soup,_ Harry thought, snickering for the first time in a long while. 

He did wonder about it sometimes, but he supposed it didn't matter so very much. He was quit of the Malfoys -- that was the important bit. Their "irrevocable adoption" could go hang.

Except, it couldn't, not completely.

Kreacher, for example, looked on him with new eyes. That much was obvious from the moment Harry Apparated in from Malfoy Manor.

"Master is back!" he'd said in a tone halfway between a yelp and a squeal.

Harry glanced around. It felt like he'd been gone forever, not just a few months. "Hallo, Kreacher--"

But by then, the elf had raised a leathery hand to his mouth, his ears stretching out like an inflated balloon. "Master-- Master-- oh, Kreacher is so happy for Master is being a proper wizard now!"

Harry knelt down. "Hmm?"

Kreacher said the words like they were a prayer and Harry was his god, every syllable hushed with reverence. "Master is a pureblood."

Harry jumped up at once. "No, I'm not." He remembered telling Narcissa something similar, that he was still a half-blood, and her answering that of course he was. 

"But-- Kreacher is feeling the magic--" His face screwed up tight as he clenched his eyes. 

"My magic's changed?" Harry didn't like the sound of that.

"No, Master's magic is being the same. The family magic around Master is being different. Or . . . more." Kreacher's eyes snapped open. "More."

Harry's own eyes had narrowed. "I had family magic before?"

Kreacher blinked owlishly. "Family magic to be telling elves who and how to serve. Master's magic was being from line of Black, and Potter, and new-spawned line without name--"

Evans, Harry surmised. The reference to Sirius puzzled him for a moment until he realized that being the man's heir must have registered with his magic somehow. Otherwise, how would Kreacher have known that Harry had inherited him?

"But now Master's magic is being all that and Malfoy too," said Kreacher, his ears flopping again as he nodded and nodded and nodded.

"Did Draco Malfoy or anyone else come here and tell you anything about this?"

Another owlish blink. "Master Draco Malfoy was being here. He was telling Kreacher not to be be worrying if Master Harry was being gone for a time."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What else did he say?"

"That Kreacher was to be keeping house tidy for Master Harry's return. And-- and--"

"Yes?"

Kreacher hung his head, his shoulders quivering. "Kreacher was asking Master Malfoy to take him to Master. But Master Malfoy was saying that no elves could work in his home. But Kreacher wanted to be serving his Master!"

Harry sighed a little as he bent down to pat Kreacher's little shoulder. "It's all right. And I'm home now, so no need to think on it any longer, hmm?"

Kreacher sniffled. "Yes. And Kreacher is so happy for Master's magic!"

Harry thought better than to protest again that he was still a half-blood. Some things weren't worth the argument, and anyway, he'd learned a long time ago how opinionated elves could be. He patted Kreacher one more time, and then wand out, started casting Auror spells that should reveal if Malfoy had altered his wards or left any eavesdropping spells lying about.

oOoOoOoOoOo

By the time several more days had passed, Harry had concluded that filing paperwork was the dullest job in the world. He couldn't imagine how Muggles could bear it. Even with magic to aid the process it was mind-numbingly boring.

He had to hand it to Bladderstail, however: this sort of duty would definitely make misbehaving Aurors think twice about ignoring regulations again. It was just Harry's bad luck that he'd had no real choice about ignoring leave policies in the first place. He did regret that letter, but his only alternative had been no letter at all.

He couldn't imagine that would have improved matters.

At least the duty gave him plenty of time to think. He came up with a few dozen more things to investigate in his house, but all the spells revealed the same result. Draco Malfoy had apparently Apparated in, the wards admitting him because at that moment he was some kind of magical guardian due to the child adoption spell he'd used. He'd taken some clothing items of Harry's and little else, and Apparated back out.

He'd only visited once, and he hadn't left any artifacts or spells behind.

Harry had checked the wards several times, and they always insisted that Malfoy was barred now, unless Harry specifically changed them to allow the git access.

So . . . odd as it was, it seemed that when Malfoy had let Harry go, he'd released every one of his controls along with the tether.

Harry still didn't know why he'd done it, but he made a point of having soup with dinner each night, as a form of celebration. Not alphabet, though. He didn't think he could stomach the sight of it.

Another thing Harry was able to investigate during lulls in the filing was the issue of magical adoption itself. He borrowed a few books from the Auror research library and pored over them. There were a lot of different rituals, he found out, most of them "little used in today's modern age," declared one tome. Harry tapped his wand to the book and found out that it had been written in 1812. The other books were also centuries out of date, and when he went shopping at a few wizarding bookshops, he found out that there really wasn't anything more current on the topic, since magical adoptions had fallen so far out of fashion. 

Purebloods who kept track of their family history, however, still knew the spells involved.

Well, at least there was one good thing about the information being so old. It meant that in the last reorganization of the Ministry, the spells that used to track magical adoptions hadn't been renewed. That let Harry breathe a huge sigh of relief. If there was no parchment trail about what Malfoy had done, so much the better. The last thing Harry needed was for Rita Skeeter or the like to run across evidence that Harry Potter and the Malfoys were now connected in some way.

No, adoptions were now entirely private and a matter for the family members themselves to publish, should they choose.

The books yielded some other useful information, though all of it was rather depressing. The ritual Malfoy had used was indeed irrevocable, just as he had claimed. It struck Harry as beyond improbable that there was no way to cancel such an asinine adoption, but on another level it made sense; the spell was intended to settle family fueds once and for all. With that as the goal, it would be stupid to craft a spell that could be reversed.

So . . . Harry was stuck.

But perhaps it didn't matter very much. Nobody knew he'd been adopted, and the fact of it hadn't changed his life at all, except for the glaring matter of Ginny being married to someone else.

That still made Harry clench his fists when he thought on it, but not because he was angry that he'd lost her. As far as he was concerned, Dean could have her.

He was angry that she'd proven so faithless, though. Very angry.

And in those moments when he could be totally honest with himself, he knew that he was also angry that Malfoy had been so bloody _right_ about her. If she couldn't last three months without sleeping with someone else, if she couldn't even try harder than she had to see Harry, since she'd known full well where he was . . . well, she probably would have cheated on their marriage vows, sooner or later.

He could see that now.

And in that case, it was better not to be married to her at all, Harry decided.

But he was furious that Malfoy had known that before Harry himself had.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Assignment for you, Auror Potter," said Bladderstail's assistant several days later.

Harry walked to the door of the filing room. "Thanks, Jacob."

The other man gave him a sympathetic smile, which seemed to be more or less the rule of the whole division at the moment. He'd expected to be ostracized more; he was, after all, in disgrace at his place of work. Being assigned to Outer Mongolia made that very obvious.

It turned out, though, that most of the Aurors had been assigned there at one time or another, so although they ribbed Harry gently about it, nobody had been cruel.

Then again, as far as they were concerned, he'd gone off the deep end over leave because he'd been left at the altar. It would take a cold-hearted bastard to be malicious over his stint in Outer Mongolia considering what had landed him there in the first place. 

As soon as Jacob had turned to leave, Harry unfolded the parchment and read it through.

_Public unveiling of new sundial on Diagon Alley._  
Ceremony at noon tomorrow, location 100 yards from entrance to Alley.  
Wear Auror ceremonial robes and arrive one-half hour in advance of ceremony.  
Duties: Stand five feet to left of Minister and slightly behind during his speech.  
Shadow him as he mingles afterwards.   
Remain on site until ten minutes after the Minister's departure.  
Danger assessment: Low.   
The Ministry has received no indication that this event will attract undesireables, but as the ceremony will take place in a public venue, an appropriate level of caution is warranted. Be alert to protect the Minister and the crowd should the situation warrant.  
Special instructions: Cast Patronus for backup in the unlikely event of trouble. Your first priority is the Minister. 

_Bartholmew Bladderstail, head of MLE.  
_

There was a second sheet of parchment. When Harry turned to it, he found a duplicate set of instructions for him to file.

Sighing, he got on with it.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Kingsley's smile when he saw Harry was wide, but tinged with just a little bit of regret. "I hear they have you working in Outer Mongolia at the moment," he said, clearly commisserating. "I did want to do something about that, but--"

"Oh, no, you can't show any favoritism," Harry broke in. "I understand that. And if you had, it would only have set me up for decades of resentment from my fellow Aurors. Don't give it another second's thought."

Kingsley tipped his head slightly to the side, his dark eyes assessing Harry. "I have to think that Bladderstail is wrong about your maturity level."

It irked Harry that his boss had been discussing him with the Minister for Magic. He tried not to show it, though. Anyway, he needed some cover, because Kingsley had a look in his eye like things didn't quite add up.

Which they didn't, but Harry hardly wanted an investigation into his missing three months.

"I'm trying to grow up now," he said. "I realize that the way I handled . . . well, you were there. I shouldn't have taken extra time off work like that, but at the moment . . ." Harry shrugged. He'd often found that leaving things unsaid left a stronger impression than stating them outright.

"Mmm, I've had a few romances go badly awry, but never quite so publicly," said Kingsley, his fingers briefly touching Harry's. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, hmm?"

"Thanks."

Kingsley rubbed his hands together. "Well, best get to it then, I suppose. Anything I should know?"

Harry had helped set up the podium area and had done the usual pre-sweeps of the area to re-assess the danger level. "Everything appears as expected, Minister."

Kingsley made a slight face at the use of his title, but didn't object. His next words made clear his understanding that they had moved onto a work footing for the day. "Very good, Auror Potter. Stay alert."

"Yes, sir."

Kingsley checked his watch and glad-handed a few notables who had approached the podium. In the meantime, Harry took up position so that he wouldn't have to move after Kingsley started speaking. His eyes swept the crowd, back and forth as he'd been trained, one hand on his wand which was already set to monitor conversations for anything suspicious. On every sweep of his gaze he picked out new faces and new details, doing his best to see everything. You never knew what might come in handy later on in a Pensieve memory.

It was on his third systematic sweep across that someone in the crowd shifted and a distintive fall of pale hair glimmered in the sunlight. For a single instant, he thought it was Malfoy. Then the haze across his vision cleared and he realized it was Lucius, not Draco, standing there in heavy formal robes, his gloved hands lightly grasping his snake-headed cane as he leaned down slightly to say something to his companion, who was hidden behind a bulky bearded wizard.

Harry shifted slightly to improve his vantage point and saw that Lucius was speaking to Narcissa, who somehow sensed that Harry was looking at her. 

She glanced up at once, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as she smiled at him.

Smiled!

Harry didn't know what she thought she was about. The last time she'd seen him, he'd bloodied her son's face! And Harry knew how much she doted on Draco. There was no way she'd look on him kindly after that.

Except . . . she _was_.

Lucius caught his gaze next and gave a single, definite nod of his head, as if greeting--

Fuck. It was just the sort of greeting Harry could imagine him giving to a son long estranged.

It made Harry remember that Lucius had told him to visit, and that had been after he'd thrown the hawthorn wand at Malfoy's pointy face. Strange as it was, it seemed the two of them didn't resent that. Or had decided not to resent it. Or--

Harry didn't know. He'd never had a real family, so he wasn't sure how it all worked.

Narcissa was still smiling at him, he saw.

Well, at least Lucius wasn't still nodding. He had more presence than to do that, since it would make him look like a marionette. Now, he simply looked calm, reserved, and slightly warmer than neutral.

Realizing that he was letting his duties slip, Harry hastily resumed his methodical sweeps of the crowd. Now that he'd seen Lucius and Narcissa, though, he couldn't seem to stop his gaze from raking over them more often than it should. 

And when Narcissa glanced upwards at her husband to murmur something, Harry couldn't stop his reaction to that, either.

Without even consciously meaning to, he flicked his wand in their direction and silently incanted the spell that would change his monitoring charm so that it would listen to them while still scanning the rest of the crowd for anything suspicious. One more tiny flick and the magic carried their words up to his left ear.

"But he looks a bit peaked," Narcissa was saying, very softly. "I don't know that we can trust that old elf to take proper care of him. What if he's not eating properly?"

"He's a grown man," Lucius murmured, his lips barely moving. Harry had no doubt that the crowd around could barely hear the Malfoys. 

"But--"

"He won't welcome our interference. You must keep in mind that he's not like Draco, content for his life to be intertwined with ours on a daily basis. Our second son is more . . . independent."

_Oh, God._

Even when talking privately to his wife Lucius called Harry his son.

"So good to see him back at work, though," said Narcissa after a moment. "Those robes suit him. Is he happy, do you think? Does he look happy?"

Lucius gently hushed her as at that moment, the Minister began his speech about the historic importance of sundials in wizarding culture and the contributions of the Sun and Moon Magical Institute to the creation of this newest example.

Harry listened with one ear while he continued to monitor the Malfoys, but they remained silent throughout the speech. When Kingsley finished a few minutes later, both of them politely applauded.

Lucius' gloved hands made an odd sort of noise as he held his cane and clapped around it. Narcissa's applause, on the other hand, was dainty and delicate.

Neither one of them was wearing a sneer of contempt, which is what Harry would expect. After all, in their enormous garden they had sundial of their own that was twice as large. And the crowd was filled with wizards and witches of all types: rich and poor, pureblooded, mixed-blooded, and Muggle-born.

They obviously weren't here to cause any sort of trouble, which made Harry's eavesdropping ethically questionable at best. Keeping his face impassive, Harry cancelled that part of his spell and tried not to think on the things he'd heard. Things that were . . . disturbing, but not in any way he could readily identify. He thought he'd rather have heard whispered mutterings about a pureblood supremacy plot than . . . that.

Kingsley left the podium and began working the crowd, greeting old friends with a shared slap on the shoulder, politely bowing or shaking hands as he encountered people he didn't know as well. Harry kept up a position behind him and to the left, but it wasn't long before the number of people greeting _him_ made it difficult to keep his attention where it belonged.

"Please excuse me, I'm on duty," didn't seem to mean much to the crowds of well-wishers.

That surprised Harry in a way. After all, years had passed since he'd defeated Voldemort. During that time, everyone who wanted to thank him had got it out of the way. Harry had been able to go out in public for more than a year without much trouble. 

Then again, all these people knew that he'd been left at the altar, and more than one felt it necessary to express the sentiment that he "deserved better after his many sacrifices," etc., etc. Apparently his marital woes had brought him to the public's attention once again, but their attention span was pretty limited, Harry knew. It would blow over.

He knew it would be a public relations nightmare if he shoved the crowds away from him, even using magic. Finally, though, he felt he had to resort to a wordless spell directing their attention to the beautiful golden-hued sundial. That let him get out of the crush and get back to keeping an eye out for Kingsley.

It wasn't until Kingsley had Apparated away that Harry gave much thought to the Malfoys again. They'd kept their distance while he worked. He wasn't sure why; he'd half expected Lucius to approach Shacklebolt in an attempt to demonstrate the Malfoys' civic-mindedness or something. After all that time at their house, he did know that they'd prefer to be thought of as something other than Voldemort collaborators.

Then again, Harry mused, perhaps seeing to that was more properly the province of the family scion. Part of him wondered where Malfoy was and why he hadn't taken advantage of the public arena the sundial event offered. The rest of him sternly lectured that part that he wasn't supposed to care what bloody Draco Malfoy did or didn't do. 

Thanks to Harry's earlier spell, people continued to ignore him even after Kingsley had left. The exception to that rule, however, appeared to be Lucius and Narcissa, who walked over to greet him the moment it was clear he was no longer on duty guarding the Minister.

Harry held back a sigh. He'd hoped his spell would apply to them too, but he should have known better; it didn't work on family members. First Kreacher and now this . . . it seemed like magic itself was trying to make a point.

"Harry," said Narcissa warmly.

Even though nobody was paying attention, Harry cast a quick privacy ward around them.

"Narcissa," he said, his own voice level. Then, because it only seemed polite, he nodded at Lucius, who nodded back.

For a moment silence reigned around them. Narcissa finally broke it. "We hoped you would be here."

Harry blinked. "You didn't come because of the sundial dedication?"

"Of course not."

Harry looked from her to her husband, suspicion narrowing his eyes. "Who told you I'd been put on light duty, then?" He didn't like the idea that somebody in the Ministry was talking to the Malfoys about him. He didn't care for that idea at all.

Lucius gave a minute shake of his head. "Who better to accompany the Minister himself, we thought, than the wizard who faced down the Dark Lord."

"Light duty?" Narcissa sounded perplexed.

"It's a punishment for that ludicrous letter your son made me send," said Harry harshly. "That's no way to request a leave of absence. I got called on the carpet, straight away."

"Oh." Now Narcissa looked deeply disappointed.

Lucius' nostrils flared. "I apologize that Draco's actions have damaged your reputation at work. He has never been in paid employment; doubtless he has very little understanding of such matters."

"Like you," said Harry in a taunting voice. He wasn't sure what made him do it. Ever since the adoption, Lucius Malfoy had treated him decently. Even well, sometimes. Harry could acknowledge that to himself, but showing any part of it to Lucius seemed beyond him. Maybe he even wanted to put an end to it. Hence the taunt.

"Yes," Lucius merely replied, inclining his head slightly, though his eyes had narrowed. "You will not be subjected to 'light duty' forever. I do hope you realize that my offers stand."

"Offers?"

That garnered him an impatient look. "Books you cannot obtain from other sources. Knowledge to keep you alive when your chosen vocation requires a fight to the death." He paused slightly. "Practice duels with a partner who will not hold back, should you desire."

The very idea made Harry uneasy, maybe because it sounded like something he could use. His weekly refresher duels were seeming more anemic all the time. "You're just itching for a chance to cast _Sectumsempra_ on me again--"

Harry knew that was unfair of him even before Narcissa raised a hand to cover her gasp of dismay.

Lucius glowered at him, his eyes a burning, molten silver. "That is _not_ true."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly ten times more uncomfortable than before. "Yeah. I know. Sorry. I do believe you were trying to help me."

He got a stiff nod in reply.

"May we take you out to luncheon?" asked Narcissa in a bright tone that sounded slightly forced.

"I should be getting back--"

"Dinner this evening, then?"

The sheer _hope_ in her voice almost undid Harry, and made him remember that she hadn't been the one to adopt him against his will and keep him captive for months. Of course, she hadn't helped him escape, either, but with the scion Malfoy in charge of the wards and the tether and all that, there wasn't much she could have done.

Lucius either, for that matter.

She'd been kind to him, though. Unfailingly kind, sometimes even in a Molly Weasley sort of way.

"In the manor, if you are concerned about having to spell attention away from our table," she said into the pause. "Draco will not be there, if that is on your mind."

Mention of the manor had been a mistake, and hearing that name only made it worse. Harry's heart went as hard as Arctic ice. "Excuse me," he said, and stepped away so he could Disapparate.

He was just beginning to turn when he heard her quiet, plaintive cry. "But we _miss_ you--"

Then there was nothing but the quiet of the receiving room at MLE as Harry Apparated directly back to work and headed for Outer Mongolia.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"A Mr. Malfoy to see you," chimed a tinny voice three inches from Harry's ear.

Harry sighed. What now? Another lunch invitation, when it was just yesterday that he'd turned one down at the sundial dedication? Odd, though . . . when he flicked his wand to check the time it was barely gone ten in the morning. 

Harry started walking down the hall. Since he was just a junior Auror, he didn't have an office of his own yet, and he didn't fancy talking to Lucius Malfoy in front of the six to eight colleagues who might be working in the communal office for Aurors barely out of training. Outer Mongolia was out, too. Anybody could come in needing something that had been filed.

And this wasn't a place where he could cast a privacy spell without people taking note and wondering what he had to hide.

Harry tapped his earlobe. "Escort him to Interview Room Storm, please. Thank you, Mrs. Lille." 

Seating himself behind the desk, Harry tapped his fingers on the wooden surface and reconsidered his earlier assumption. Maybe this wasn't about lunch. Maybe Lucius merely wanted to drop off some of the books he'd offered. Though, wouldn't he take them to Harry's house, in that case? The man ought to know that the Ministry would take a dim view of anything that even verged on Dark Arts--

"Here we are," said Mrs. Lille from the corridor, her voice a good deal less tinny in person.

She came into view the next moment, and then Draco Malfoy walked into the small rectangular room, his gaze positively _sizzling._ Yet his voice was polite enough as he thanked the witch from reception. After she bustled off, he closed the door behind her.

Then he whirled, pinning Harry with a look of such virulent accusation that for a moment, Harry was floored. What the fuck did Malfoy have to complain about?

Harry soon found out.

"You made our mother cry!" he spat, striding forward two paces to lean both palms on the desk, his features taut with anger as his gaze continued to blaze.

_Our mother._ Well, at least the witness interview rooms were heavily warded for privacy. They had to be, since some wizards were so skittish about talking to an Auror at all. 

It surprised Harry later that he wasn't a great deal more angry, but maybe the comment about Narcissa had taken the wind out of his sails. Or maybe it was the fact that he'd already bloodied Malfoy's nose once.

"I didn't mean to do that," he said heavily.

For a moment he and Malfoy just stared at one another. Then Harry gave up and waved toward the chair in front of the desk. He was sure he wasn't supposed to find it a little bit amusing that Malfoy jerked slightly in surprise, then sat down quickly like he was hoping Harry hadn't noticed.

"Well, you did. And what happened to you wasn't _her_ fault, you know. She told me not to do it!"

"She told you not to use an adoption spell?" Harry asked sharply.

Malfoy lightly shuddered. "Not without your knowledge and full consent. But--" His shudders grew worse, then stopped abruptly, like he'd clamped down on himself with some kind of iron control. "She hadn't seen what I'd seen. She didn't know."

"That your soup was predicting the end of the world?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," snapped Malfoy. "And I'm surprised you'd mock my soup after what you saw it do."

"Explode in your face, I presume you mean?" Harry asked in his sweetest voice.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, well at least I don't go around wrecking people's weddings!"

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and studied Harry for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think you even realize, do you?"

"Realize what!"

"Almost every time you complain about that, it's the wedding you mention. Not the marriage, Harry. The _wedding_."

"You can't expect me to miss the marriage now that Ginny looks like a two-timing little--" He cut himself off before he actually voiced the thought that she was a tramp.

Even though she basically was one, Harry thought darkly.

"But you talked that way before, too," said Malfoy calmly. "From the very first. Pensieve yourself if you don't believe me. It's always made me wonder, but after you told me that you and she had never been intimate, it all made sense. It was never her that you wanted with such ferocity. It was what she represented. Normality. Stability." He paused, then spoke even more quietly. "A family."

"Yeah, well I sure as fuck didn't want yours, Malfoy!" said Harry, wishing that he'd never mentioned that bit about never having slept with Ginny.

The other man gave him a small, lopsided smile. "That's the thing about families, Harry. Most people don't get to pick. They just find themselves suddenly . . . embroiled, and they have to learn to deal with it as best they can. What happened to you--"

"What you _did_ to me," Harry hotly objected.

"What I did to you," Malfoy amended, nodding slightly. "It has put you in a situation most people must deal with, you know. And isn't that what you always wanted? To be like everybody else?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, laying the sarcasm on thick. "How could I have missed it? You were only trying to give me a normal life. Because it's so normal, isn't it, for men in their twenties to be coerced by threats of anal rape into consenting to child-adoption spells!"

Malfoy flushed. "That wasn't well done of me, I will admit."

"What, the fact that you said you'd fuck Ginny up the arse and make her lick your cock clean afterwards? Or the fact that I was expecting exactly that treatment when you dragged me to your room and force-fed me a potion that for all I knew would make me _want_ to be raped--"

"For Merlin's sake!" exclaimed Draco. "You might try to remember for one second that I never did any of that, Harry. That I never intended to, not even to her! It was all just to get you to agree to the adoption!"

"I know that," said Harry heavily. "But don't sit there claiming that everything is fine just because I got a family out of it. The way you went about it was wrong, _wrong,_ and I don't really care if your rune soup made you do it. And you're wrong about me, as well. I already know all about not getting to pick my relatives. You think I'd have chosen the Dursleys?"

Again, that slightly lopsided smile. "Ah, but they don't count."

Harry bristled. "Because they're Muggles? Fuck you!"

"Not that. They don't count because they didn't love you," said Malfoy, his grey eyes intense.

Harry snorted. "And you do?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "We do. Why else do you think she cried, Harry? It's only because she cares that you have this power to hurt her." Malfoy abruptly stood up. "Don't blame them for actions I undertook entirely on my own."

"Fine," said Harry, his emotions stretched to some kind of breaking point by then. Being adopted was one thing. Even knowing that Narcissa cared, and Lucius too, in his odd way. But he couldn't think about it being more, about it being-- Anger surged inside him, snapping off the thought before he let it form. "I'll just blame you!"

Malfoy swallowed, something like regret in his eyes. "I know. And for what it's worth, Harry . . . I am sorry I didn't know how to handle things better. I didn't know they'd punish you at work by giving you such a dreadful, bare little office. "

_Never worked in paid employment_ was an understatement when it came to Draco Malfoy. Completely fucking clueless was more like it.

"This isn't my office," said Harry baldly, his emotions see-sawing again. "I have to share. I'd love an office of my own, but I'm not likely to get one now that I'm stuck working as a file clerk."

The look on Malfoy's face was priceless. "But-- you were guarding the Minister yesterday--"

"Yeah, at an ultra-hazardous _sundial_ dedication." Harry jumped up and came around the desk. "They were just trading on my name, which I guess you understand now is something I pretty much hate. And if I ever want a real assignment again, I can't take more than ten minutes of break every four hours."

Malfoy held up his hands. "Going, going. But, ah, just one more tiny thing. What I came for, really. Bit awkward asking, but . . ." His voice skipped until he cleared his throat. "We'd all very much like for you to come to a family dinner next week."

Harry stared, just _stared_. "You've got a nerve!"

"Part of my charm," retorted Malfoy, backing up towards the door as Harry stalked forward. "Will you come?"

"No!"

"Will you at least think about it?"

"No!"

"Just tell me that you'll consider thinking about it, then." Malfoy's voice was urgent. "It could be next month instead of next week. Or six months from now if you need that much time to come to terms--"

"I have to get back to work," said Harry, moving to push past him.

"Please," said Malfoy, very quietly. "For her sake, Harry. Just say you'll think about it. She'll start weeping again if I go home and tell her there's never going to be a chance."

"That's low," said Harry, thinking of the awful sight of Molly Weasley weeping that time as the boggart tortured her. Mothers cared, he knew that. They cared more deeply than Harry could probably understand. 

How Narcissa could have come to care so quickly about _Harry,_ though . . . he didn't understand it. Not even after reading the books that had made it perfectly clear how purebloods regarded adoption as absolutely equivalent to blood ties.

"It's also true," said Malfoy. "Please, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. It was true that he didn't want to hurt Narcissa. It was also true that he _liked_ her, strange as the idea was. He'd even bought a book of fey stories to read before bed so he could catch up more on his wizarding cultural references, and while it was good . . . stories like that had been a lot better in her lilting voice. 

"Tell her . . . tell her I do want to see her again, then, but that I need to be the one to arrange it." He opened his eyes and glared. "And don't come here again about something like this. I'm not supposed to conduct personal business at work."

Malfoy gave a sharp nod. "You have my word."

Harry didn't bother saying that he thought it wasn't worth much.

"I'll contact you at Number Twelve instead," Malfoy added, a pleased little smile dancing about the corners of his mouth. "Have a good day, Harry."

Harry slapped his own forehead at his idiocy, but then pushed thoughts like that to the side and went back to work.


	4. Chapter 4

After Malfoy's closing remark, Harry thought he'd probably have to deal with him coming around Grimmauld Place all the time, or at least firecalling with more invitations to "family" dinners on a weekly basis.

Strangely enough, though, a month passed, and then another without any word from him at all.

That was fine by Harry. He had enough to do without dealing with the git. First and foremost came his job. Harry was determined to get back onto a normal junior Auror track, so he worked hard at being the best damned file clerk the Ministry had ever seen. It paid off, too. After the sundial dedication, they started giving him a few other limited duties. Slowly but surely, he began working his way up from Outer Mongolia. 

In his free time he kept track of the other Aurors' ongoing cases. How else could he be sure he'd be up to speed when they finally partnered him with someone? Of course, that didn't take all of his free time. The first time he saw Ron after the wedding debacle had been pretty tense; Ron admitted later that he thought Harry would badmouth Ginny and that Ginny would deserve every word, but he still didn't really want to listen to it.

Harry hadn't badmouthed Ginny, though. What was there to say? Her getting pregnant by Dean and marrying him so quickly after their own aborted wedding was proof enough that it wouldn't have worked out between then. Blaming Malfoy was no excuse. If _she'd_ been taken captive, Harry wouldn't have turned to someone else like that. The fact that she had meant that it was just as well they hadn't gotten married.

Not that Ron or Hermione knew what had really happened. Harry supposed he could have told them, but it was simpler all around just to go with the "Ginny left me at the altar and I was devastated" story that Malfoy had arranged. He didn't want to get into the rest of it, didn't want to have to tell them that he'd been adopted into the Malfoy family against his will. Ron was a good friend, and he'd understand it hadn't been Harry's fault; he'd even respect that Harry had just been trying to protect Ginny. But still, Harry didn't want to talk about it.

Maybe because once he let even his best friends know, they'd be reminders the way Malfoy was now a reminder. Harry just wanted to forget.

Except, part of him didn't. He'd told Malfoy that he did want to see Narcissa again, and the longer the silence from the Malfoys went on, the more he knew that he'd spoken the truth that day in Interview Room Storm. He'd also said that he had to be the one to arrange it, and to Harry's vast surprise, the Malfoys appeared to be taking him at his word. Harry had guarded the Minister at several public functions by then, but Narcissa and Lucius hadn't sought him out. As far as Harry could tell, they hadn't even been in the crowds that would gather -- bigger crowds every time now, since it was becoming common knowledge that if you wanted to see the "Chosen One" in the flesh, all you had to do was show up to one of Kingsley's public appearances. 

Kingsley, Harry could tell, was finding that a little exasperating, and Harry could hardly blame him. The wizarding world ought to be interested in the establishment of a new merfolk sanctuary for its own sake. Instead, they obviously showed up at ceremonies like that just to gawk at Harry.

Then again, if that fact got him assigned to normal Auror duties sooner, Harry supposed he could live with it. 

Deciding what to do about Narcissa was a tougher nut to crack. More than once, he started to write her a letter, only to crumple up the parchment in dismay when he realized he didn't know what to say. He wanted to see her in some strange longing way he couldn't really put a name to, but he didn't want her at his house. And he didn't want to go back to Malfoy Manor. And he didn't want to answer the questions that would come if they were seen together anywhere else. So what was left?

Harry's musings were interrupted by another huge stack of parchmentwork appearing on the main table in the filing room. It was all he could to not to sigh. Even with charms to do the sorting and heavy lifting, Outer Mongolia was deadly dull. But then, it was supposed to be. That was pretty much the whole point. 

_This_ stack, however, had something on top that caught his eye at once: an instruction sheet written out on brilliant pink parchment. He knew most of the departmental colors by then, but not that one. When he got closer and saw the words emblazoned across the top, he almost winced. The stack was from the Department for the Promotion and Support of Wizarding Charitable Institutions and Efforts.

The Department of Worthy Deeds, Malfoy had called them. 

It brought back memories Harry tried not to think about, of Malfoy working side by side alongside Muggles, without a sneer in sight. Of drinking something fruity and getting silly with him . . . of the best hangover charm in the world. 

Harry swallowed hard, shoved the memories away, and focused on his instructions. Well, at least they explained the size of the stack. Like a lot of departments, the one that encouraged wizards to be philanthropists only sent their files down on an irregular basis. This pile represented six months' worth of records, and they needed to be filed not just by date the way most records were, but also by country as well. Which meant duplicating charms.

A lot of duplicating charms.

Harry sighed and began flicking his wand, but he'd only got three parchments in before he wondered if his own name figured in this stack at all since, after all, he'd been to Burkina Faso with Malfoy. He counted it as unlikely that Malfoy would have mentioned that in any way in whatever documentation he had to submit to the Ministry to keep getting his Portkeys, of course. Still, you never knew what magical details might have wormed their way into the kinds of self-generating reports that lots of Ministry departments kept.

He quickly cast the spell he had to use whenever it was time to look up an obscure detail for someone, though he was careful to restrict his casting only to the newest batch of parchment. "Harry Potter," as he'd found out on his first day as a file clerk, appeared on a ridiculous number of parchments already in the room. 

It was a relief when the entire stack briefly glowed white to indicate an "all clear."

Harry never was completely sure was possessed him to cast the spell again. Certainly, he shouldn't have been curious. 

"Draco Malfoy," his whispered, casting the rest of the spell silently as he waved his wand in sprirals and tapped the stack a second time.

Several dozen parchments separated themselves from the stack, sliding halfway out but no futher, in case Harry wanted to mark their places when he pulled them completely free.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he began to look through them. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find, really, but some part of him was surprised that Malfoy had kept on with his well drilling projects in the time since his rune soup had blown up in his face. He was still issued a Portkey every week and he'd apparently completed three new wells in Africa, although not all of them were in Burkina Faso. There was also something about working with Doctors without Borders. Harry's eyebrow shot up further at that, since he was dead certain that Malfoy knew next to nothing about Muggle medical care, but then he saw that Malfoy's role was in helping to deliver supplies to villages in remote parts of India so that the doctors who visited sporadically wouldn't run out. 

The information gave him a strange feeling. It wasn't that he'd believed himself the center of the universe, since he certainly didn't. But somehow, he hadn't expected Malfoy's life to just . . . go on. 

It made him wonder what Narcissa had been doing in the last few months.

It even made him wonder -- just a little -- about Lucius.

That night, after he ate the meal Kreacher set before him, Harry started another letter to the the Malfoys. 

This time, he finished it and sent it on its way.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Harry," said Narcissa warmly, striding forward to grasp both of his hands. "How are you? How have you been? You must tell us everything."

"Very good to see you again," added Mr Malfoy, nodding. 

Harry looked left and right but didn't see any trace of Malfoy. Which didn't mean much, since Malfoy wouldn't think twice about Disillusioning himself if he thought it would get him what he wanted. Not that Harry knew what he wanted, really.

"Harry," said Narcissa reprovingly when Harry had finished a series of Auror-level spells designed to ferret out hidden observers. "You don't trust us?"

"I have good reason to assume you can't control what your scion takes it in his head to do," said Harry tightly, still looking around a bit. When he realized he was doing it, he managed to cut it out. "But . . . it seems like he's not here."

"As you requested," returned Lucius, robes fluttering lightly in the breeze brushing against the outer wards protecting the grounds of his ancestral home. Harry had finally proposed that they meet out by the smallest of the five ponds dotting the property. He didn't like it, but it had seemed the best solution. "Shall we sit?"

There hadn't been furniture out here the times that Harry had walked the edge of the wards, trying to think of a way to break the tether. Now, there was a small patio set made of what looked like silver twisted into elaborate shapes. Three chairs surrounded a table with a surface that shimmered like a crystal prism.

_Three._ Harry wondered who had arranged the seating.

He sank down into a chair, suddenly exhausted, and just stared at the Malfoys. He had absolutely no idea what to say. They weren't his parents, not that he knew much about talking to parents in any case. His nearest point of reference was Molly and Arthur. 

Somehow, he didn't think that rubber ducks and knitting spells were going to be much of a topic with these two.

It was Mr Malfoy who broke the ice. His hands were folded in his lap, but his gaze seemed strangely intense when he asked his question. "How is your work situation progressing?"

"I'm still stuck in Outer Mongolia most days."

Narcissa smiled brightly. "You've been given an investigation abroad!"

"It means I'm filing papers. Light duty, remember?"

"Still?" asked Narcissa, her smile dimming.

"Your true value will soon become apparent, I've no doubt," said Mr Malfoy in a bracing tone. 

"Yeah. Maybe." Harry cleared his throat and shifted restlessly in his chair. What had made him think that sitting here could help him recapture the feeling he'd had when Narcissa had read him fey stories? "Look-- I-- this isn't working. It was probably a mistake to come--"

"No," said Narcissa, her voice catching. "Don't go, _please._ We've done exactly as you asked. As far as possible from the house, no chance whatever of Draco intruding--"

"It's not you," said Harry quickly. And it wasn't. "It's me, all right? I can't do this--"

As he rose to his feet, two fat tears welled in Narcissa's eyes and spilled over her lashes.

_You made our mother cry,_ snarled Malfoy in his head.

Harry didn't want to do that, not when Narcissa had been kindness personified from the first instant Malfoy had dragged him here. He sat back down and sighed. "All right, we'll talk. So . . . er . . . they have me filing things all day on most days, and once in a while I go out and guard the Minister, but I don't know how much longer that'll last since it's been causing some crowd control issues. And . . . well, that's about it, really. I go to work and I come home and review case files in case they put me on one soon, but there's no guarantee of that, and I fall into bed and get up the next morning and start it all over again."

"I do hope that your dueling skills are not being allowed to atrophy completely," said Mr Malfoy in an uncomproming tone.

Harry shook his head. "All the junior Aurors have practice duels at least once a week."

The man looked far from satisfied, his hands tightening on one another as he leaned forward slightly. "With one another?"

"Yes, but with our instructors as well."

"Such as they are," he said, disdain lacing each word.

"You do realize you're pretty fixated on this issue?" 

Lucius flashed him the kind of smile a crocodile might offer his next meal. "Would you expect any less?"

Harry shrugged. "You made it clear enough that you wanted to see my dueling skills improve. From your perspective it even makes sense. If I die fighting a dark wizard that will be the end of any use I could be to the--" He couldn't possibly say _family_. "To the Malfoys."

"That is important, certainly, but it is hardly the crux of the matter," corrected Lucius, shaking his head slightly. "Your life is valuable in and of itself, Harry. And too, if I am 'fixated' on your battle readiness, it is because I can think of little else to offer you."

"It's not your fault I'm here," Harry returned, shaking his own head. "You don't have to give me anything to make up for what your son has done."

" _You_ are our son as well, and I do think you have some inkling of how this family regards its members. Our connections and standing in the wizarding world are yours if they can be of use; our wealth and manor are equally at your disposal--"

"Isn't that all up to the scion?" interrupted Harry.

"The scion Malfoy should have explained all this to you," retorted Mr Malfoy. "But then, he should have made your position here clear from the very first and he certainly should have apprised you of the fact that the manor's wards will admit you at any hour of the day or night. I was quite shocked when you felt you had to ask about that."

"Shocked with Draco," added Narcissa gently, as if she believed that Harry might think the criticism was directed at him.

"He and I have had words on the matter, believe me," said Malfoy with a scowl. "He should not have treated his own brother in such a cavalier fashion, no matter your previous difficult relationship."

Harry wasn't sure if that meant Hogwarts or the way Harry had believed Malfoy's nonsense about a slavery spell. "Maybe he knows there's no redeeming himself after the things he said at my wedding," he pointed out.

"True," admitted Malfoy. "But do remember one thing. Though I am no longer the scion Malfoy, I _will_ guarantee that as my son you will not lack for the things I have mentioned."

Harry swallowed. "But that's just it. I've been reading about wizarding adoptions, and I do understand that-- I know they're taken seriously, but--" He sighed, seeing no point in not facing the problem head-on. "How can you _really_ think of me as your son? It would be hard enough with a stranger, but me? Don't you remember the battle in the Hall of Prophecy, how it got you sent to Azkaban? Draco blamed me for that, enough to break my nose over it. Don't you blame me even more?"

"Ah. Well, I did say that you seemed to me a son long estranged, if you recall."

Harry did. "But--"

"We love you dearly," broke in Narcissa, smiling at him in a way that said how true it was. "Both of us, Harry. Truly, we do."

"Yes," said Lucius. 

Well, Harry wouldn't have believed anything too soppy coming from him.

"But . . . that's ridiculous," he protested. "If you'd known me my whole life, maybe--"

"That's not how parents love their children," said Narcissa softly. "I loved Draco from the first day I knew I was with child, long before I could possibly claim to know him."

"Well, yeah, 'cause he was really yours!"

" _You_ are really ours," said Lucius, his gaze pinning Harry's. "If you have been studying adoption customs, you will have read that pureblood families regard adoption as absolutely the equivalent of life-long blood ties."

"But--"

Lucius leaned forward further, his hands on his knees just a few inches from Harry's clenched fingers."I know that this is difficult for you, perhaps all the more so because you were not raised all your life in the wizarding world. But tell me one thing, Harry. Do you believe in magic?"

Harry blinked. What a question. "Yes, of course I do."

"When a spell lifts a feather aloft, you believe that it is truly floating? It is not just a trick of the light, or of perception?"

"Yes, it's really floating--"

The man gave a single definite nod. "Magic transforms reality. I know that you believe and understand that. What you fail to realize is that in this case, the magic has made you truly our son, every bit as much as Draco."

Harry remembered that single, simple _yes_ that Lucius had said earlier, and shivered. "All right, fine. But you can't possibly . . . er, you know, _love_ me the way you love Draco--"

Lucius proved then, that he could say the L-word to Harry after all. "We can certainly love you just as much. I would not say we know you nearly as well. But that, as you have said, will take years." He sat back again and looked Harry up and down. "Perhaps longer. I do think that Narcissa and Draco and I are probably not terribly well-equipped to understand a Gryffindor."

"Not to mention a half-blood," Harry couldn't help but gibe. 

"Not to mention a half-blood," repeated Lucius, apparently without a single qualm.

"How can you stand having me around?" asked Harry, feeling desperate by then. "My mother was a Muggleborn and you know it! I know that's got to nauseate you--"

Narcissa narrowed her gaze. "The woman who gave up her life so that you could live? You must be mad if you believe that we could resent her now that you are our son!"

"But I ended up defeating Voldemort and wrecking all your grand plans--"

"This may come as a vast shock to you," said Lucius in a biting tone, "but the final year of the war was not exactly paradise on earth for this family. The Dark Lord _took my wand_. Dare I imagine that you can grasp what that means to a wizard? Our home was invaded by purebloods who could just as easily have passed for ravening animals. Draco lived in terror that if he did not perform as the Dark Lord demanded, he would be given over to the werewolf troops being steadily amassed! Narcissa was required to--"

"No," said Narcissa sharply, turning her face away. "Not that."

Lucius looked shaken at what he had nearly revealed, but regrouped quickly enough. "The point, Potter, is that our lives are better for what you managed to accomplish in that bizarre final duel. Had the Dark Lord won, the family would doubtless be much worse off. I acknowledge that. So do not speak of your victory as though we would resent you for it, for we do not."

"That would make a lot more sense if you hadn't been trying so hard to get your son to identify me that time," muttered Harry. "Didn't you already know all this then?"

"That was sheer panic," admitted Lucius. "Clutching at straws, trying to find a way back into his favour. It was all we could think to do. How could we understand that a stripling half-blooded boy no more than Draco's age could actually prevail? And still, Draco had the good sense to help preserve your life in hopes that there could be an escape for us. Believe me, that did weigh heavily on my mind later when I began to see that I was no longer the Malfoy most fitted for the role of scion."

"So you're actually happy I won?"

"Have I not just said as much?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "You have, I guess. I-- I didn't know you felt that way."

"I hope you will remember it in future." Malfoy grimaced slightly. "The topic is . . . uncomfortable."

"Life's uncomfortable," said Harry. So strange to think that they might have something in common, however small. 

"We're sorry that Draco made it so much more so for you," Narcissa put in. "Lying about the adoption spell, of all things! We told him in the strongest possible terms that his Seer powers couldn't possibly have meant him to proceed in such a manner. I was ever so grateful when Lucius finally forced the matter. I feel ashamed that we let it go on as long as we did."

Harry shrugged. "Well, he had you convinced that it was the lesser of two evils. I think you did your best, so don't let that worry you. But . . . I don't think I can be much of a son, and I've got absolutely zero interest in being a brother."

"Just say that you will visit us again," said Narcissa quietly, her blue eyes so soft that Harry felt almost hypnotized. "For we do love you, Harry."

"Yeah," said Harry gruffly. "Er . . . okay. I will. But no Malfoy."

"That is between the two of you," said Lucius. "We will not interfere."

Harry nodded and stood up. "I should be going, then. I'll send you an owl sometime."

"Or simply Apparate in. The wards know perfectly well that you are a most welcome family member."

The word still made him shiver.

Harry just nodded once more, and spun around to Apparate away.

oOoOoOoOoOo

_Elinora's alive and living in Portsmouth,_ read the message that came to Grimmauld Place by untraceable owl.

Harry stared at it for a moment before the information slid neatly into a gap in his mind. MLE had finally let him out of Outer Mongolia, but because he still didn't have a partner, they'd assigned him to review information in the cold case files just in case he could figure out something that had escaped the notice of the Auror teams originally assigned to the cases. 

Harry hadn't come up with anything, though he'd tried his best, following up lead after lead only to run into the same dead ends already noted in the files. The case that had haunted him the most had been one about a little girl snatched away by magic from her home in the dead of night. She'd apparently vanished from the face of the earth, leaving nothing behind in her pink-painted bedroom except a greyish splotch on the floor, evidence that the magic at play had been dark indeed. 

Harry had investigated that case first, maybe because the image of a five-year-old dragged away from a loving family had tugged at him, somewhere deep inside. The abduction had already been two years earlier, though, and the trail was cold. Harry spent months on it, and then had reluctantly moved on to other cases. But if Elinora was alive as this message claimed....

Harry didn't hesitate. The fact that the message was anonymous and untraceable was no bar to progress, not this time. The creamy, thick parchment gave the author away at once. As it was probably meant too, Harry thought grimly. He didn't know what Malfoy thought he was playing at, but he was going to find out that he'd bit off more than he could chew this time.

For Harry wouldn't hesitate to arrest his so-called brother. Not for an instant.

In fact, he'd probably enjoy it more than he should. A lot more.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He'd visited Narcissa and Lucius several times more in the past months, always meeting them out by that small pond, always with the understanding that their son wasn't welcome to join them.

Now, however, Harry decided to take the Malfoys at their word about wards and adoption spells. Spinning around, the tell-tale parchment clutched in one hand, his wand at the ready in the other, he Apparated himself directly into Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

The result was less than satisfactory. Oh, he arrived all right, and without any wards trying to attack him. But the bedroom was empty despite the lateness of the hour. Harry snarled and cast an Auror-restricted spell so he wouldn't have to search hundreds of rooms by hand. Instead of a jet of blue light tracing its way to its target, however, the spell simply poofed out the end of his wand and fell like a scattering of dust to the lush carpet beneath his feet.

Before he could try again with another spell, Malfoy's voice spoke directly into his ear, just as calm and pleasant as though he hadn't sent a message proving he was a damned kidnapper, or at least in contact with wizards who were. "Harry. Come and join us for a late supper in the small dining room."

Harry snarled again and took the stairs two at a time, his wand drawn as he bounded into the room.

Narcissa looked up from a plate of carved fruit, beaming with pleasure until she took in the look on Harry's face. "Harry?"

He ignored her and levelled his wand at Malfoy. "Where is she?"

Malfoy's brow furled a little as if he didn't know what Harry was on about. Then a little light dawned in his eyes. "Oh, Elinora? Er . . . Portsmouth, I think. Isn't that what I wrote?"

So he wasn't even going to pretend that the cryptic parchment hadn't been from him. Harry filed that away for future reference and gestured for Malfoy to get up and step away from the table. "You'll have to come to the Ministry for questioning. I'd advise you to cooperate and tell us everything you know."

No need to mention an arrest right now. Best to get him behind MLE wards before giving him any reason to panic.

Malfoy set his soup spoon down, but other than that made no concession to Harry's demands. He didn't look worried, though. It was more as though he found Harry's remarks almost incomprehensible. "Questioning about what?"

"Elinora!"

"She means something to you?"

"Don't play stupid, Malfoy!"

"Who is Elinora?" asked Lucius Malfoy, speaking for the first time since Harry had entered the room. Unlike Draco, he had risen to his feet. Also unlike Draco, he was glowering. But not at the man who had come to bring his son in for questioning. "Draco! Have you been interfering in Harry's social life again?"

"You're seeing someone?" asked Narcissa in a lilting voice. "How simply wonderful--"

"Elinora is a seven-year old child!" bellowed Harry to shut them all up. "And your damned son knows something about her kidnapping! That she's in Portsmouth, for a start. _Where_ in Portsmouth, Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked stricken. "I've no idea." His throat bobbed a little as he swallowed. "I'm so sorry I didn't send the information sooner, Harry. I didn't know what it was about. I've been seeing that name in the runes for weeks now . . . I went into a bit of trance late this afternoon and had a vision about owling you. I wasn't even sure it was the rune message I was supposed to send, but it _seemed_ the surest way of keeping the Path ahead open--"

"You saw a message in the runes," said Harry in a tone of total disbelief. "And you owled it to me because your dreams said to. Right, Malfoy."

"Does it strike you as more likely that I'd be involved with kidnapping a little girl, Harry? Or that I'd be brainless enough to send evidence about the crime to the one Auror with the most reason to hate me?"

Put like that, it didn't make a lot of sense, no. It didn't even add up that Malfoy would be kidnapping children at all, not when Harry knew for a fact that the man was dedicated these days to using his money and influence to do good things for people in the developing world.

"Why don't you sit down, Harry?" asked Narcissa gently. When Harry did, she reached out to pat one of his hands, her touch soft and motherly. "I'm sure that you and Draco can work this out. Lucius and I will be in the chess room if you need us for anything."

Ha, so much for them not interfering in his relationship with Draco. Though Harry wasn't so sure he'd term it a relationship, really.

Lucius leaned down, glaring into Malfoy's eyes. "Merlin help you if keeping the Path open this time has caused Harry to regard our name with even more dishonour," he said in a harsh whisper before striding out, his robes billowing majestically behind him. 

"You knew I was upstairs," Harry accused the moment they were alone. "You must have known that your message would bring me running. How did you know I was interested in Elinora Eagletalon's disappearance?"

"I knew you were upstairs because I'm the scion Malfoy," said Malfoy, shaking his head slightly. "I'm instantly informed whenever anyone in the family arrives. How else could I know to welcome them?"

Harry scowled. "Why an untraceable owl, then, if you didn't know you were sending me something dodgy?"

"Because I wanted you to receive the message, and after our last exchange, I didn't think it wise to contact you at work. But I had no idea if you'd taken steps to exclude my owls from Grimmauld Place, so . . ." Malfoy lifted his shoulders slightly.

"All right, fine," said Harry, sighing. "I guess I don't really think you're mixed up in a kidnapping. Though I'm still having trouble believing that your soup can foretell the future. Or open the Path, or whatever."

Malfoy took a moment to consider that, his head tilted a little to one side. "That time when it reared up and drenched me," he said after a moment. "It had been telling me for some time to let you go. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't imagine how you would ever to learn to trust me if you weren't here to get to know me. I thought that releasing the tether would close off the Path completely, so I kept telling myself that I must be misreading things. You saw what happened then. The runes decided to get my attention."

"By getting in your face, you mean?" 

Malfoy ignored Harry's sniping tone. "Isn't that proof that there's at least something to my Seer powers?"

"You could have cast a spell on your soup."

"So I could pretend it was telling me to let you go? I didn't want you to leave us!"

Yeah, not too likely -- it was hard to believe that Malfoy would want to cover himself in a gloppy mess, even if he hadn't minded getting dripping wet in Africa. And anyway, if Malfoy wasn't in touch with the kidnappers, how would even know that the name "Elinora" would be significant to Harry?

"Tell me everything you know," sighed Harry. "Whatever your soup and your dreams and your crystal ball had to say."

"Crystal ball," scoffed Malfoy. "Please."

Harry just gave him a tired look.

"It started quite some time ago with just her name spelling itself out in the soup," Malfoy began, folding his hands together. "Then the rune for water began to be coupled with it. I didn't know who she was or what it might mean, but that's not unusual. It can take time for a pathway to really make itself clear."

"And then?" Harry dug in a jeans pocket for the notebook he'd been using to record clues, but in his rush to come and arrest Malfoy, he'd left it on the kitchen table. Damn. "Er, have you got some parchment I can borrow?"

"The manor knows you're welcome to anything like that."

"Well maybe I don't want to presume!" snapped Harry. "I never wanted to make myself at home here, you know!"

"You can't possibly presume," said Malfoy scornfully. "You've a perfect right to odds and ends, even to full maintenance if you desire it. It's not as though you're some kind of distant cousin, Harry. Did you miss the part where I was saying that we _want_ you here?"

Harry didn't want to argue about it. Elinora mattered more. " _Accio_ parchment," he said, flicking his wand just before he dug a ball-point pen out of another pocket. When he started to write with it, Malfoy gave it a dubious look but didn't comment.

Harry did his best to adopt a fully professional manner after that. 

"When did the messages start?"

" _Accio_ latest Seer journals." Three leather-bound diaries came sailing in a moment later. Malfoy flipped through the first one quickly, shoved it to the side, and flipped through the second one more slowly. "Ah, here we are. The third of March, apparently."

"You're going to tell me the date and content of every message."

"No need to growl. I'm perfectly happy to help you. In fact--" 

Malfoy shoved the journals across the table and then got up to sit beside Harry so he could point out the Elinora entries, which consisted of a _lot_ of information, most of it irrelevant. In addition to sketching runes and recording exact messages he'd been able to decipher, Malfoy had also jotted down his guesses about what it all meant and how it might affect the Path and on and on. Most of it looked like absolute rubbish to Harry, but if it helped him find Elinora, he supposed he'd have to give some credence to Malfoy's view of himself as a Seer. Unless this was all some kind of trick . . .

But how could it be? It wasn't as though the general public knew that Harry had been looking over an old case belonging to other Aurors entirely. And Harry's house was warded against his entry, so Malfoy couldn't have seen the files for himself . . . actually, Harry supposed that Kreacher could have blabbed something, but that still wouldn't explain how Draco could have come up with Elinora's current location, assuming that he had. 

If Harry managed to locate Elinora based on Malfoy's new evidence, however . . . 

That would mean one of two things. Either Malfoy really did have Seer powers, or if he'd kidnapped a little girl more than a year before he'd developed his bizarre obsession with Harry's wedding plans. But even then, how could he have known that Harry would end up looking over that particular case?

In any case, a quick spell confirmed for Harry that all the journal entries had been written on the dates claimed.

"You suspect I don't keep accuate track of the moon cycles?"

"Standard procedure," lied Harry. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"I don't know what else might be significant. I told you that Seeing the future was murky more often than not."

"Right, then I'll need to take these along with me," announced Harry, scooping up the two journals that contained references to Elinora as he stood up.

Malfoy leapt to his feet. "Why were you taking notes, then?"

"Helps to fix things in my memory."

"Those are originals! I don't even have any copies--"

"As of right now, they're also evidence," snapped Harry. "I'll return them when they're no longer needed."

"But-- but you might lose them or damage them or--"

"Wand's in the other hand now, isn't it?" jeered Harry. "Not finding it so easy to trust, are you?"

Malfoy's face lost what colour it normally had. "No," he said quietly, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of him. "I'm not. I-- I see what you mean."

"Ha. Say that after I wreck your wedding."

"But you know now that she wasn't right for you!"

"Yeah, and what of it? 'Cause I also know that if you had any intention of ever really being my _brother,_ you'd have handled things better than that!" With that, Harry stepped away from the table and prepared to spin in place.

"You've never made a mistake, Harry?" asked Malfoy as he grabbed hold of Harry's arm to stop him from leaving. "A terrible, horrible mistake when you were just trying to accomplish something good?"

_Sirius,_ thought Harry with a familiar rush of shame so intense it still twisted his intestines, even all these years later. Even after seeing the man's spectre in the Forest. Even knowing that he was at peace.

"It's not the same," snarled Harry, throwing Malfoy's hand from him so violently that the other man was propelled bodily away. 

As he spun about to Apparate, he knew he was right. What he'd done to Sirius, and what Malfoy had done to him . . . they weren't the same thing at all.

For all that though . . . they also weren't completely different.

oOoOoOoOoOo

According to the timeline Harry could deduce from Malfoy's Seer journals, Elinora had spent a lot of time in Croyden and Crawley after disappearing from her home in King's Lynn. Actually, she'd gone back and forth between the the two cities on a regular basis. For the last five weeks, though, she'd been in a number of cities along the coast. Torquay, Weymouth, Bournemouth, and now, Portsmouth. It was when she went to Torquay that the rune for water began to appear alongside her name.

Malfoy had made some stunningly stupid observations about that bit, in Harry's view. He'd speculated that perhaps this Elinora was pregnant and nearing the time when her waters would break. Then he'd wondered if the rune for water might refer to a thirst for knowledge, in which case her travels along the coast might be some sort of quest for "the wisdom of the seas." 

The claptrap only got worse as Harry kept reading, but of course, Malfoy hadn't known that Elinora was only seven years old. It went to show, he supposed, some of the limits of his Seer powers. Assuming they existed at all, of course.

After Harry had been through the Elinora entries three times, the bloody obvious began to dawn on him. The rune for water only appeared when towns along the seaside were mentioned, but why would it be needed at all in that case? The city names alone would make it clear that she had to be near water!

So what if the city name was really secondary? What if the real message was that Elinora was actually out _on_ the water, on some sort of boat? In that case "Portsmouth" might just mean that it was the nearest approximation to her true location!

Still . . . _Elinora's alive and living in Portsmouth,_ Malfoy's message had read. 

Had the runes said exactly that? Literally? Reading Malfoy's journals, it seemed like maybe they hadn't. Harry looked up the latest entry, the one that had led to the owled message, and stared at it with his forehead furrowed.

Yeah, just as he'd thought. Malfoy had extrapolated a proper English sentence from three elements he felt magic had provided. The rune for water, the rune for life, and a jumble of letters he'd unscrambled to make Portsmouth. It might not mean that she was literally living _in_ the city, but just that she was alive on the waters near there. 

Harry grabbed a jumper and Apparated southwest from London to the Auror's secure toilet in the Portsmouth train station, tucking his wand away before he ventured out. He didn't have a plan, but he wasn't sure he could form one anyway on the basis of such scant clues. All he knew was that if his instincts were right, then Elinora was probably on board a boat somewhere near this part of the coast. 

Harry scratched his head as he walked along the waterfront, thinking. One odd thing about the Elinora Eagletalon case had been her parents' insistence that their daughter was a walking case of accidental magic. She was just brimming over with it, constantly causing windows to crack and the like. MLE had originally thought her case would be quite simple to solve as a result. They'd just modified the Trace on her to detect even small outbursts like that, and waited.

And waited.

Her mother had been hysterical within a week, wailing that it could only mean one thing: Elinora had been killed. It didn't take a lot of reading between the lines to realise that the Aurors on the case had probably been influenced by that idea. Harry wasn't convinced, though. Shock could do strange things to a child's magic, after all, and anyway, she might have been put under a strong compulsion, or--

"Harry," said a voice he recognised, directly in his ear. "I have more information. May I join you?"

Harry almost growled, and not just because he'd lost his train of thought. He also didn't like the idea that Malfoy could _speak_ to him like that. It had to be a scion power, something to do with magic recognising Harry as a Malfoy, since he'd certainly never heard of a spell that could accomplish as much.

"Yeah," he shot back, not really caring if he looked strange talking to himself. It was past two in the morning by then, anyway. Not too many people about. 

At least Malfoy was a little circumspect about Apparating into a Muggle area. Harry didn't know where he'd appeared, exactly, but a moment later he saw the other man walking down a narrow side street toward him. Harry turned and closed the distance. His annoyance over the scion spell could wait. For now . . ."What new information?"

Malfoy drew him a little deeper into the shadows, which was probably a good idea even though almost nobody was about at this hour. "Fortune's fool," he said.

"You are," snapped Harry. "So?"

Even in the dim light being cast by the nearest streetlamp, Harry could see that Malfoy was rolling his eyes.

"I don't know what it means. I just know that it came in answer to a query I cast about Elinora."

"What did you ask?"

Malfoy sighed slightly. "I can't _ask_ , not the way you mean. I can only reach out with my Seer powers and trust them to find whatever information matters most."

"So for all we know, that could be her favorite book!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "It might not have anything to do with her at all!"

"Not when I cast the query about her. Unless you still doubt my Seer powers?"

"I don't have much reason to do anything but doubt them."

Malfoy raised a single eyebrow. "Really. Then why are you wandering about Portsmouth at this time of night?"

"I don't mind making a fool of myself on the remote chance it could help a little girl. If it means she can be safe at home again, then I damned well hope you know what you're talking about," retorted Harry. "Is that all you have to tell me? Two words?"

When Malfoy nodded, Harry blew out a breath. "Go home, then."

"I could help you--"

"Just go home and see if you can figure out anything else, Malfoy."

Harry turned his back and walked away. A moment later her heard the distinct _pop_ of Apparition.

oOoOoOoOoOo

_Fortune's fool . . . fortune's fool . . ._ What could the phrase mean? It seemed vaguely familiar, like it was a line he'd seen in a movie at some point. Not that Harry watched a lot of movies, but Hermione sometimes dragged him out to ones she found particularly compelling. Hmm. _Fortune's fool . . . fortune's fool . . ._

Could it be the name of a hotel or something? Somewhere she was being held captive? It could even be a house, since plenty of them had fancy names. Harry didn't think he'd heard of any houses named something quite so strange, though.

As he continued to walk and think, his Auror-trained senses were taking in information from all around. The slight tang of salt in the air. The lapping noise of the waves. The shine of lights, far out in the water--

Harry abruptly stopped walking, his thoughts racing. Of course, of course. Boats had names, didn't they? _Fortune's Fool_ didn't even stand out, not in that context.

So maybe Elinora really was on board a boat, just as he'd speculated! One that had been moving along the coast . . . 

Of course, that theory didn't explain those early entries, when she was apparently inland, but Harry supposed the boat could have been in storage somewhere. Which meant . . . probably a smallish boat, nothing like the huge ships he could see in the historic dockyard ahead. 

Harry had two choices then. He could follow up this line of thought by doing a "proper" investigation to track down the _Fortune's Fool_ using wizarding or Muggle archives, whichever were most helpful. Or he could take the wand by the grip -- literally -- and try to find Elinora tonight. Right now.

After all, if he followed procedure and reported his findings to MLE and waited to see if the Ministry wanted an Auror team re-assigned to the case, there was no guarantee that Elinora would still be aboard a boat.

Assuming she was on board at all. 

Only one way to find out. Harry stepped into the shadows, Disillusioned himself for good measure, and thinking fiercely of a boat named the "Fortune's Fool," spun around on his heel to Apparate.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He appeared more than a foot above a swaying deck and fell with a thud that would have wrenched his ankle if he hadn't kept his legs flexed. The noise woke someone up, though; Harry heard mutterings and crashings from inside the small, dark cabin that probably occupied most of the hull. With caution drilled into him by countless "capture and question" mock raids, Harry wasted no time blasting the cabin's door off its hinges and casting _Incarcerous_ at anybody within. The spell might catch Elinora by mistake, but better that than the most likely grisly scenario. If left free, the kidnapper might kill her in his panic at being caught.

"Ach!" Harry heard another loud crashing noise as somebody tripped. "Eh? What's this, then?"

_"Lumos!"_ shouted Harry, loud as he could as he stepped into the doorway, still trying to use his advantage of surprise. 

What he saw within tugged at his heartstrings a little, though he knew that as an Auror it probably shouldn't. A man lay on his side on the hard wooden floor. At first glance, he looked more than a bit like a much older, much smaller Hagrid. He had a huge mass of bushy hair and beard, most of it greying, and through the ropes cutting tightly into him, Harry could see that he was wearing a stained flannel nightshirt. He looked up at Harry, blinking owlishly, looking more confused than fiendish.

Harry had a job to do, though, so he hardened his heart against the impulse to loosen the ropes straight away. "Where is she?" he shouted, deliberately taking up a threatening stance. "Where is Elinora Eagletalon?"

The man just blinked up at him some more, his eyes almost blank with incomprehension.

All right, Plan B. Harry knelt down next to the man and gentled his tone. "A little girl," he explained, gesturing with his hand. "About this tall when she first vanished from King's Lynn. Chestnut hair, brown eyes. You've seen her, haven't you?"

The man shook his head, then blinked some more. "A wee lassie, is she?"

"That's right," said Harry encouragingly, trying to say his words with a little bit of McGonagall's Scottish accent. It came out sounding more like a twang. "A wee lassie. She misses her mum and da. I canna find her, but you can help me, eh?"

"No lassies aboard, lad," said the man. "Wish I could help ye." 

He wriggled ineffectually at his bonds. 

Harry tried a few Auror interrogation tricks, and even some spells. Short of Veritaserum, though, he couldn't be certain that the man was telling the truth. Or at least, the truth as he knew it. By then, Harry was beginning to suspect that the man was less than sane. For one, he hadn't once objected to being trussed like a turkey. And then there was the way he kept veering the conversation in strange directions, like he couldn't concentrate for more than a few moments at a time.

Harry ended up Stupefying him so he could search the ship from bow to stern without interference.

Elinora wasn't aboard. That much was obvious within five minutes. She wasn't anywhere in sight, she didn't come when called, and when Harry executed a slightly complicated ritual designed to point him to every human heartbeat within a thirty-foot radius, he could detect only himself and the old man.

Harry was within an inch of releasing the old man and heading to Wiltshire to throttle Malfoy. What had he done, somehow found out that a boat by this name was within sight of Portsmouth?

But that, Harry knew, wouldn't explain how he'd known Elinora's name to begin with.

By then, Harry had searched the entire boat thoroughly except for the outside of the hull. _Leave no stone unturned,_ his old Auror trainer said inside his head. Sighing, he leaned out over the railing to complete his search, his wand casting his strongest _Lumos_ across the reddish-brown wood. It was hard slogging; seawater kept crashing against the hull to spray upwards into his face. 

She wasn't clinging to the hull, though. Of course not.

In fact, there'd been nothing to see down there but a peculiar figurehead painted a dusty grey colour that looked a bit like stone. A figurehead not of a woman or a mermaid as was most traditional, but of a little girl . . .

Harry swallowed and leaned back out again, closer this time, and studied the figure. There was no doubt that it was made of wood. Roughly carved wood, at that. But now that he looked at it closely, the shade of grey was just the same as the one he'd seen in photographs of Elinora Eagletalon's bedroom floor. The splotch that had been all that was left behind when she was snatched had been this same colour.

Harry felt sick. Had she been here all this time, mounted to the front of a boat, unable to cry out for help, her magic just as stifled as her voice? Was she conscious and aware of the waves drenching her time and again as the boat swayed on the sea? Was she even alive?

She had to be, he told himself. Malfoy had seen the rune for life, over and over.

In his rush to assure himself that Elinora would be all right, Harry didn't even realise that he had finally, irrevocably admitted to himself that Draco Malfoy was indeed a Seer . . . and not a fledgling one, either.

Harry spent a few minutes transfiguring himself a raft of sorts and lashing it to the hull just below the figurehead. Then he carefully lowered himself down and stood, arms stretched out to catch her as he whispered the seven simple syllables that could have set her free at any time during the past two years.

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

As he'd suspected, the confused old man in the cabin hadn't cast any magic to prevent an easy reversal. A small child popped into existence and fell tumbling into Harry's arms. For a mooment that seemed to stretch out forever, she didn't make a single move. She wasn't even breathing.

Then her eyelids opened as though yanked apart by invisible strings, and she stared upwards, looking just as befuddled as the old man had been. 

_Thank God,_ thought Harry, smiling down at her. _She hasn't been conscious all this time. She doesn't remember. All she knows is that she's woken up in a strange place, with a strange man--_

Harry acted quickly then, before she could become aware enough to start screaming. "It's all right, Elinora," he said, smoothing a hand down over her sodden hair as he kept his balance on the raft. "You've had a little mishap, but everything is fine now. I'm going to take you home now, to your mum and dad in King's Lynn."

It turned out to be the perfect thing to say to calm whatever budding fears might have otherwise grown. "Another mishap," Elinora said, sheepishly tucking her face against his arm. "I s'pose you know 'm always having 'em. 'Dental magic, Mummy calls it..."

"'Dental magic, that's exactly right," said Harry with a low laugh. "Will you be all right if I take you home by Side-Along? Have you done that before? Oh . . . my name's Harry Potter and I'm an Auror."

She didn't seem to hear anything past his name. Untucking her face from his sleeve, she gazed up at him with perfect trust. "My mummy lights a candle for you. Every week. 'Cause you did something very very 'portant, she always says. But then she says it's a story for when I'm bigger."

For once, having his name smooth his way didn't annoy Harry in the least.

"She's right," he said solemnly hugging her a little closer. "It's a story for when you're older. Can I Side-Along you, now? Or should I find another way to take you home?"

Her face scrunched up a little. "Mummy's prob'ly worried. Daddy too. I don't have to look, do I?"

"No," said Harry, legs flexing against the unstable raft as he adjusted her position against him. "Ready? Here we go!"

Spinning in place wasn't easy, not with the waves trying to toss him off the raft at the last second. Harry, though, didn't even notice. His mind was too filled with images of a caring mother reaching out to hold her child for the first time in two long years.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So the old man was simply insane?" asked Malfoy as he sat in Harry's kitchen, a cup of steaming tea clasped between his palms. Kreacher had been ridiculously servile, falling all over himself -- offering Malfoy not just biscuits, but also pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes and all sorts of other things Harry didn't think he had in his pantry.

It was enough to make Harry wish he hadn't invited Malfoy over to Grimmauld Place. But it seemed the best alternative, in the circumstances. They did need to talk, and while Harry hadn't minded entering Malfoy Manor of his own free will when he'd expected to arrest the other man, he didn't want to go there to see Malfoy. It would be too much like admitting that he _was_ a member of their family now. 

The times he'd visited with Narcissa and Lucius out in the farthest reaches of the gardens... that was different somehow.

And sitting and talking with Maofly out in public somewhere, where they might be seen or heard? Even with concealment and obfuscating charms, Harry didn't want to chance it.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat as he got his thoughts back on track. "From loneliness, it looks like. He didn't even know any longer that the figurehead on the _Fortune's Fool_ was a real person, but apparently he used to talk to it all day long while he was fishing . . ." Harry sighed. In the end, the case had turned out to be sad tale from start to finish. "He's at St. Mungo's now, assigned to a Mind Healer. They aren't sure yet if they can ever straighten him out. At least Elinora doesn't understand what happened to her, but her parents went through two years of absolute hell--"

Malfoy pushed his tea away. "I can imagine. At least when my father was in Azkaban I knew where he was. They wouldn't let me visit, though, so I still did have to wonder how he was doing."

Huh. Harry hadn't ever thought about Malfoy missing his father, or worrying about him. He didn't really like the feeling it gave him, to look back and realize that under all his sneering bravado, Malfoy had been human after all. 

Or maybe he didn't like the fact that he should have known that much all along. He had found the other man crying in a bathroom, after all. 

"I guess . . ." Harry cleared his throat again. This really shouldn't be so hard to say, not when it was what he'd bought Malfoy here to hear. "Um . . . I guess this means you really do have some, er . . . Seer powers. Otherwise, how could you know to send me information about Elinora? How could you have come up with the boat's name?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you're still trying to find another explanation."

"Er, well, I suppose Kreacher could have seen the case file left out somewhere here and blabbed some details to you, and you could have, er, come up with _Fortune's Fool_ some other way--"

"Have you got any Veritaserum?" Malfoy shrugged. "I'm perfectly willing to submit to questioning if that will settle your mind on the question of my Seer powers."

"That would only prove that _you_ believe you have them," said Harry scornfully. 

"And that I first heard of Elinora through the runes, not through any other means."

Right, of course. But still, the mention of Veritaserum brought up a good point. "You could have offered to take some truth potion before, you know, when you were trying to convince me you could sense the future, instead of dragging me off to Africa in the hopes that some good deeds would let you See something amazing!"

"You wouldn't have trusted a potion I'd procured, and even if I'd brought you here to get your own . . ." Another faint lifting of shoulders. "It wouldn't have mattered. You weren't ready to listen to me, not then."

Harry made a face. "What the bloody hell makes you think I am now?"

Malfoy looked around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and then returned his gaze to Harry, making his point without a word.

"Yeah, well, there is that," muttered Harry, scowling. "Look, don't read too much into it. I just thought we'd better--" He broke off in frustration. "Why do you _care_ so much if I believe you're a Seer?"

"I've told you a hundred times," said Malfoy, his voice going fierce. "It's important that you trust me."

"To keep the world from ending," scoffed Harry.

"Something like that, yes." Malfoy took up his teacup again, but set it down rather quickly. Not quickly enough, though, to keep Harry from seeing them shaking. 

"What?"

"It's nothing."

Harry didn't think so. "I thought you wanted me to trust you. Lying to me's hardly the way to go about it."

"I wasn't lying! Saying it was nothing is just a reflex--"

"Fine. Keep your secrets. Forget I ever asked."

"Fuck. You don't make things easy, do you?"

Harry challenged Malfoy with a glare. "You think you do?"

"Here it is, then," said Malfoy, practically snarling by then. "I want you to believe in my Seer powers because then you'll be able to see things from my side of the wand! I didn't _want_ to wreck your precious wedding to the she-Weasel, but I didn't see any other choice! I tried to get you to leave her, you know. I sent those letters, little good that they did me! And then the big day was roaring down upon me, and what was I supposed to do, just let the whole world get blasted to smithereens? You wouldn't _ever_ have been able to trust me once you were married to her. You'd listen to your wife, of course you would, and she was going to poison your mind against all Malfoys no matter what--"

He broke off to take a long, deep breath, then spoke more calmly. "Harry. I don't want you to hate me for that day forever."

Harry was frankly surprised that Malfoy hadn't brought up the way that Ginny had proven herself so faithless, so quickly. Not that _that_ could excuse Malfoy. Harry couldn't regard what had happened as a lucky escape, because the way things had turned out, he hadn't escaped at all. He'd just been embroiled in a different sort of problem. "And I didn't want to be made into a Malfoy against my will."

"But . . . surely it's not so bad?" Malfoy swallowed. "It's not as though it's changed much about your life. Nobody knows, and you're back on the job, just as I always said you would be."

"Yes, going over old case files. Exactly what I trained for, thank you so fucking much."

Malfoy winced, just a little. "Well, that part is my fault, I will admit--"

"It's all your fault!"

Malfoy sighed. "Right. It is, yes. But what can I do about it now, Harry?" He pulled his teacup close again and stared down into it. Looking for tea leaves? Harry didn't know. "I didn't handle things very well. That much I'm sure of. But it's not as though I knew what to do, Harry, to avoid the coming rain of destruction. The Path doesn't work that way. All I knew was that I had to get you away from Ginny Weasley, and that I had to get you to know me, instead. It wasn't much to go on."

"Your soup didn't tell you to adopt me?"

"No, it just said you had to trust me, or all was lost." Malfoy glanced up, his silver eyes looking somehow haunted. "The rest was my idea. And if you can never trust me now, if I've bollixed things up too badly--" He turned his face away, but not before Harry saw the desolation that swept across it.

Harry sighed. The possibility that Malfoy really was a Seer kept circling all his other thoughts, but at the same time, he couldn't forget that he was dealing with a Slytherin. Taking things on trust . . . that just wasn't on. "Are you really willing to take Veritaserum?"

Malfoy nodded, the motion quick and curt.

"Stay here, then. I'll go and get some." Harry narrowed his eyes, not caring that Malfoy had been in his house before and had apparently behaved himself. "Don't go poking about in my things. And don't think I won't know."

"Set Kreacher to watch me if you can't bring yourself to even trust me that far."

"Ha." For all Harry knew, Kreacher might have more loyalty to the scion Malfoy than to Harry himself, especially now that he could detect Malfoy family magic in Harry himself. Anyway, Kreacher was no stranger to betrayal -- though on the tail end of that thought, Harry had to acknowledge, as he always did, that Sirius' own behaviour toward Kreacher had played a role in what had happened. 

"Just stay here," snapped Harry, casting a spell that caused a purplish fog to descend over his kitchen. He gave Malfoy one last disgusted look and then turned his back, heading for his Floo.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Ministry issue," said Harry tightly as he dissipated the purple fog. The fact that it was still visible meant that Malfoy hadn't touched his wand while Harry was away. It also meant that he hadn't left the kitchen, though from the look of him, he hadn't even left his chair. "Having second thoughts?"

"No." 

Nodding, Harry carefully let three drops fall onto Malfoy's outstretched tongue, watching as he swallowed and his eyes glazed over in a way that was all too familiar to Harry. 

"When did you first learn of Elinora?"

"In the runes."

"Did you know I was interested in a kidnapping case?"

"No."

"Have you talked to Kreacher since that day when you came here to fetch clothes for me?"

"No."

"Or communicated with him in any way?"

"No."

"Where did you first come across the phrase 'Fortune's Fool?'"

"In a play."

All right, that took Harry aback. "A _play_?"

"A famous play," clarified Malfoy. "It begins, 'Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene--'"

Harry cut him off before he recited the whole damned thing. "Where else have you ever run across the phrase?"

"In the runes."

"Did you know when you saw it there that it would turn out to be a boat?"

"No."

"Why did you send me the information about Elinora?"

"A vision came to me, a vision of you staring at a parchment. I somehow knew I'd written it even though it wasn't in my hand. I'd been seeing runes mentioning Elinora for weeks and weeks, with no idea why I would. I took a chance that the rune message had been for you all along."

Harry sat down in the chair across from Malfoy, then. He couldn't say that his mind had been put to rest, exactly . . . but he did think that Malfoy must have at least a smattering of Seer-like powers. 

Now, he had other questions. 

"Do you really believe that the world is going to blow itself up if I don't learn to trust you?"

"No."

_A-ha!_

"So that was all just some sort of ruse, was it?"

"No."

Harry rolled his eyes, but at himself, not Malfoy. How many times had he been told during Auror training that yes-no questions were the least likely to be useful during a Veritaserum interrogation?

"What have you Seen about the end of the world?" he tried. 

"Death and desolation," said Malfoy in a tone eerily reminiscent of Trelawney at her battiest. "Destruction and devasatation. A wasteland in which dislocated souls wander without happiness or hope, many of them lacking even thought. And more things besides, things of horror that no human language can hope to address. A scene from primal nightmares before the world as we know it was born. And everywhere, _everywhere_ , a blackness of spirit such as the earth has never before seen."

All that proved, Harry thought, was that Malfoy believed he'd Seen all that. It didn't mean that things would really turn out like that. 

On the other hand, the whole Elinora episode certainly provided some food for thought.

"Do you really believe that you're a Seer?"

"Yes."

"Who else believes the same?"

"I cannot state another's thoughts with certainty, but it is my belief that both our parents have total trust in the truth of my powers."

Both _our_ parents. That was a telling phrase, given as it was under truth potion.

Harry hadn't planned the question that next shot from between his lips. "What am I to you?"

Malfoy's upper lip curled slightly, like he thought that was a stupid question. "You are my brother in name and in truth, and a solemn charge to my responsibilities as the scion Malfoy. You are a challenge, a reminder that though my Seer powers do show me the Path forward, I have been a miserable failure at understanding how to best walk that path. And sometimes . . . you are a complete pain in the arse."

Harry laughed. "Well, that last bit was certainly honest."

"The whole thing was honest!"

"Yeah, I know."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Sort of," muttered Harry. "I mean, I do think now that _you_ really believe we're brothers."

"But you don't."

"Well, it's kind of hard to believe that you don't still hate my guts."

"Oh, I still hate your guts sometimes," admitted Malfoy, a strange smile slanting his mouth to one side. "But that's just annoyance, these days. It's not the vitriol it used to be."

Harry cast a spell and saw that the Veritaserum was still holding strong. 

Then he sighed. There was a lot that he could still pry into, but somehow, he didn't have the heart for it. The important things were clear enough. Malfoy sincerely believed in his own Seer abilities; that was no trick. And while Harry didn't know exactly what he thought of the man's gloom-and-doom predictions, he could admit now that there might be something to them.

Might.

"No more questions," he said, flicking his wand to display the time. "For about five more minutes."

Malfoy looked surprised, but after a moment he nodded. They sat in silence for a time, both of them watching Harry's ghostly time spell marking off the minutes as they passed.

"All right. Say something to prove you're out from under it."

"Malfoy Manor has been relocated to Tasmania."

"Yeah, you're out from under it."

Malfoy nodded. "And now?"

"Now . . . we just go on, I guess."

Another nod.

"But . . ." Harry cleared his throat, wondering why this was difficult. It really shouldn't be. "Um, I was thinking, though, that your help today was really useful, for Elinora I mean, and, um--"

"It would be a very great honour if I could use my Seer powers to assist you again," said Malfoy at once.

That was a relief. Not that Harry had expected a refusal, but somehow, he hadn't really wanted to ask. "Yeah. Good. So, um, I'll change my wards so your owls can get through. Um, and firecalls, I guess, but I still wouldn't want you just stepping through without permission--"

"If I might make a suggestion?"

_Here it comes,_ thought Harry resentfully. _Give him an inch and he'll take a mile and a half._ "What?" he barked.

"I was able to provide you with much more specific information once I had some context about your case."

Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad. "So you'd like to be kept apprised of what I'm working on?"

"I think it would be helpful."

"I can do that. So, I'll owl you?"

"Or simply drop by the manor."

"Don't push."

Malfoy smiled. "All right, I won't."

"And don't tell anyone, either," added Harry. "I kept your name out of my report."

The smile died. "I see."

"What, did you want credit?" asked Harry in a mocking tone. "Is that why you gave me the name of the boat, so you could start to reclaim your family's so-called standing?"

"That wasn't why and you know it," snapped Malfoy. "I can't help it that as the scion Malfoy, I tend to think of things like that. But I wouldn't dream of interfering in your job again, Harry. If I've learned anything from this debacle, it's that. So you do whatever you think best. Credit all your future successes to your own intuition and powers of deduction. Be my guest!"

"I will, thanks!"

"Great!"

"Fine!"

"Wonderful!"

They both tried to stare each other down, then, only to burst out laughing a moment later.

"I see that not all the vitriol is dead and gone," said Harry dryly.

"Yeah, well it's true that you're a pain in the arse. Let's not let that get in our way."

"Let's not let it get in the way of solving cases," corrected Harry.

Malfoy shrugged. "As you say. Just one more thing, and then I'll be going. I did mean what I said that day at Magical Law Enforcement. We'd all be very pleased to welcome you to dinner. Whenever you like, Harry."

"That's not on."

"I thought not."

"But . . ." Harry sighed. "I have been visiting a bit with your parents. They're . . . well, let's just say that it's been interesting."

"I know you've been visiting, and no, not because they mentioned it."

"The scion powers," murmured Harry, remembering the way Malfoy had instantly known that Harry had Apparated into Malfoy Manor. The way he'd been able to speak directly into Harry's ear. Well, that could come in useful. Look at how it had helped Harry crack the case tonight. "Yeah, all right."

Malfoy reached out and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I _am_ sorry I didn't handle things better from the start. I didn't know what to do. I just knew that I had to do something."

Again, Harry was reminded of Sirius. He knew what it was like to feel panicked into action. Still, though--

He shrugged away the other man's touch. "You could have told me from the start that I wasn't really your slave, that it had all been a trick to get me to offer myself willingly so you could bind me into that adoption spell!"

"Yes, I could have. But I wanted you to trust me! Admitting that I'd started everything with a huge lie hardly seemed a capital idea."

"As long as that lie stood between us, though, I was _never_ going to trust you."

"I see that now," said Malfoy stiffly. "And now?"

Now?

Harry started at Malfoy for a long moment, thinking back over the past few months, the way that Malfoy had backed off. He hadn't come by MLE again, just as promised. He hadn't tried to butt into Harry's conversations with Lucius and Narcissa, though he could easily have done so given his scion powers. 

He'd backed off, instead. He'd let Harry set the pace.

Of course, he had sent that message about Elinora, but in the circumstances, Harry could hardly fault him for it.

"We'll see," Harry said at last. "Goodnight."

Malfoy glanced about the kitchen one last time as if committing it to memory, then nodded briskly and threaded his way through narrow hallways until he reached the Floo. Then he vanished in a pillar of flame without ever having made a reply.

**Author's Note:**

> POSTING CREDITS:  
> Credit to the movie Troy for the line about wands: "You must think of your wand, and his wand, and nothing else."


End file.
